GIFT   OF 
MICHAEL  REESE 


PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 


o* 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  •    BOSTON  •    CHICAGO  •   DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •   SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


PSYCHOLOGY  AND 
PREACHING 


BY 

CHARLES  S.  GARDNER 

Professor  of  Homiletics  and  Sociology  in  The 
Southern  Baptist  Theological  Seminary 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1918 

All  rights  reserved. 


0*3 


COP7SH3HT,    1918 
BY  THE  MACMILLrAN  COMPANY 

Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published,  April,  1918 


TO 

THE  MEMORY 
OF 

ELLEN  WOOD  GARDNER 

MY  MOTHER 
AND 

ARIADNE  TURNER  GARDNER 

MY  WIFE 

TO  EACH  OF  WHOM  I  OWE 
A  DEBT  TOO  GREAT  FOR  WORDS 


3762 L 3 


PREFACE 

THE  field  of  educational  psychology  has  been  very 
thoroughly  worked  over,  though  the  last  word  has  by  no 
means  been  said.  The  help  which  teachers  have  derived 
from  it  is  very  great,  and  no  one  now  is  considered  equipped 
for  that  noble  profession  who  has  not  mastered  its  principles. 
But  so  far  as  my  knowledge  extends  there  have  been  few 
serious  efforts  to  apply  modern  psychology  to  preaching. 
Indeed,  the  statement  might  be  made  even  more  nearly  abso- 
lute without  doing  violence  to  facts.  There  have  been  homi- 
letical  works  almost  without  number,  applying  the  formal 
rules  of  logic  and  rhetoric  to  sermon-making,  and  books  on 
elocution  are  even  more  numerous.  But  the  works  dis- 
cussing the  preparation  and  delivery  of  sermons  rarely,  if 
ever,  approach  the  subject  from  the  standpoint  of  modern 
functional  psychology.  The  psychological  conceptions  un- 
derlying most  of  these  treatises  belong  to  a  stage  of  psycho- 
logical thought  long  since  past. 

But  there  seems  to  be  just  as  much  reason  for  applying 
the  principles  of  modern  psychology  to  preaching  as  for  ap- 
plying them  to  teaching.  And  the  works  on  educational 
psychology  will  not  suffice  for  this  purpose,  although  they 
are  often  suggestive  and  helpful  to  the  preacher.  In  some 
respects  educational  and  homiletical  psychology  coincide, 
but  they  are  by  no  means  coextensive ;  and  when  they  cover 
the  same  ground  there  are  of  necessity  important  differences 
of  emphasis. 

In  this  book  some  aspects  of  the  psychology  of  religion 
are  discussed,  because  they  lie  within  the  scope  of  the  au- 
thor's plan ;  but  the  book  is  not  a  treatise  on  the  psychology 
of  religion.  It  is  simply  an  attempt  to  make  a  thorough- 


PREFACE 

going  application  of  psychological  principles  to  preaching. 
However,  it  is  something  more  than  an  "  application."  It 
has  grown  out  of  the  author's  effort  to  teach  homiletical 
psychology  to  young  ministers ;  and  he  has  found  that  many 
of  them  have  so  inadequate  a  grasp  of  psychology  that  a 
good  deal  of  explanation  had  to  precede  the  application.  He 
has,  therefore,  gone  more*  thoroughly  into  an  exposition  of 
the  general  principles  of  psychology  than  would  be  neces- 
sary in  a  book  which  sought  only  to  make  an  application  of  a 
science  already  understood.  He  has  in  consequence  under- 
taken a  somewhat  independent  discussion  of  those  aspects 
of  psychology  which  seemed  to  him  most  important  in  their 
bearing  on  preaching.  It  is  hoped,  of  course,  that  the  book 
may  secure  a  wide  reading  among  ministers  generally,  and 
even  among  other  public  speakers;  and  it  is  probable  that 
numbers  of  them  can  not  safely  be  assumed  to  have  a  very 
thorough  acquaintance  with  the  rather  new  but  fascinating 
science  of  functional  psychology.  It  is  hoped  that  this  is  a 
sufficient  apology  for  what  may  seem  to  some  an  unduly 
ambitious  attempt  by  a  theological  professor. 

Two  of  the  chapters  have  been  previously  published, — 
that  on  Belief  in  The  Review  and  Expositor,  and  that  on 
Assemblies  in  the  American  Journal  of  Sociology;  and 
they  appear  here  with  the  consent  of  those  periodicals. 

I  feel  it  needless  to  try  to  express  in  detail  my  obligation 
to  numerous  writers  on  psychology.  The  names  of  many, 
but  by  no  means  all,  of  those  to  whom  I  feel  deeply  in- 
debted are  mentioned  in  the  text  or  in  foot-note  references. 
I  wish  to  acknowledge  my  especial  indebtedness  to  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Faculty  of  the  institution  in  which  I  have  the 
honor  to  teach,  for  many  valuable  criticisms  upon  several 
chapters  which  were  read  to  them.  I  am  also  under  deep 
obligation  to  the  Reverend  Edward  L.  Grace,  D.  D.,  for  a 
critical  reading  of  the  entire  manuscript  and  many  valuable 
suggestions. 

CHARLES  S.  GARDNER. 
Louisville,  Ky., 
February  i8th,  1918. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

GENERAL  CONTROLS  OF  CONDUCT i 

Reflexes.  Structural  and  functional  definition  of  in- 
stincts. Instincts  not  racial  habits.  Less  rigidly  organized 
in  men  than  in  lower  animals.  Native  dispositions  to  be 
distinguished  from  instincts.  Some  native  dispositions 
transmissible  by  heredity,  others  not.  The  conditions  un- 
der which  consciousness  appears.  Its  function  is  adapta- 
tion to  a  complex  and  variable  environment.  Habit  —  its 
physical  basis  and  relation  to  consciousness.  Man  more 
largely  a  creature  of  habit  than  lower  animals.  Man  less 
controlled  by  habit  in  a  more  complex  and  changeable  en- 
vironment. Rationality  becomes  more  dominant.  Differ- 
ent theories  of  the  subconscious.  As  yet  comparatively 
little  light  upon  the  problem. 

CHAPTER  II 
MENTAL  IMAGES 19 

Their  nature.  Forms  of  imagery  corresponding  to  every 
sense.  Differences  in  individual  capacity  for  imagery. 
Conditions  of  the  recall  of  images.  Selection  of  details 
in  recall.  Inexactness  of  the  recalled  image.  Images  the 
material  of  the  intellectual  life.  Relation  to  literary  style 
and  to  practical  achievement. 

CHAPTER  III 
MENTAL  SYSTEMS 34 

Processes  of  organization.  Concepts  built  up  in  various 
fields  of  experience.  Reflective  and  unreflective  organiza- 
tion, and  the  functions  of  concepts  thus  formed.  Organi- 
zation of  mental  images  is  the  process  of  acquiring  mean- 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

ing.  Use,  or  functional,  meanings.  Theoretical,  or  critical, 
meanings.  Differentiation  of  mental  systems.  Differen- 
tiating influences — occupations,  organic  differences,  men- 
tal environments.  Effect  of  differentiation  of  meanings. 
Practical  problems  involved.  The  problem  of  understand- 
ing. The  problem  of  exposition.  The  problem  of  con- 
troversy. The  problem  of  co-operation. 

CHAPTER  IV 
FEELING 65 

Feelings  and  feeling-tones.  Feelings  and  emotions. 
Pain  and  unpleasantness.  Physiological  and  psychical 
factors  of  feeling,  and  their  relation  to  one  another.  The 
cause  of  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness.  The  relation  of 
feeling  to  desire.  Feeling  and  habit  The  feeling-tone  as 
related  to  the  strength  of  the  stimulus.  Intelligence  and 
the  enrichment  of  the  emotional  life.  Bearing  upon  the 
practical  problems  of  preaching. 

CHAPTER  V 
SENTIMENTS  AND  IDEALS 94 

Definition  of  sentiment.  Sentiments  classified  as  con- 
crete and  abstract.  Sentiments  classified  according  to 
their  moral  value.  Tendency  to  centralize  character  about 
one  sentiment.  Analysis  of  an  ideal.  The  ideal  as  a  pure 
construction  of  the  imagination,  and  as  realized  in  a  single 
specimen  of  a  class.  Relation  of  ideals  to  sentiments. 
How  these  emotional  dispositions  are  developed.  The 
great  task  and  opportunity  of  the  preacher. 

CHAPTER  VI 
THE  EXCITATION  OF  FEELING .     .   115 

Ways  of  arousing  feeling.  Two  ways  of  arousing  feel- 
ing at  the  disposal  of  the  orator  —  peculiar  personal  char- 
acteristics, and  communication  by  expression.  Voluntary 
control  of  the  feelings.  "  Tearing  a  passion  to  tatters." 
Dramatic  action  —  its  nature  and  value  to  ^  the  orator. 
Style  —  especially  the  skilful  use  of  pictorial  language 
and  rhythm.  The  importance  of  harmony  between  feel- 
ings aroused  by  different  stimuli.  Individual  variations 
in  emotional  power. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  VII  PAGE 

BELIEF 135 

Belief  conditioned  by  previous  mental  content.  Six  dif- 
ferent ways  the  mind  may  react  to  a  new  presentation 
—  compulsory  acceptance;  passive  acceptance;  positive 
acceptance;  tentative  acceptance;  suspension  of  judgment; 
positive  rejection.  The  nature  of  belief  —  acceptance  as 
a  safe  basis  of  action.  Function  of  doubt.  The  closed 
mind.  Influence  of  feeling  upon  belief,  doubt  and  rejec- 
tion. Three  classes  of  beliefs  —  primitive  credulity,  ra- 
tional conviction,  and  vital  assurance.  Belief  originating 
:n  feeling  given  intellectual  form.  Intellectual  reorgan- 
ization involves  distress  of  heart.  The  relation  of  the 
preacher  to  religious  doubt. 

CHAPTER  VIII 
ATTENTION 164 

Its  nature  —  focalized  consciousness.  Its  function  —  to 
select  among  the  objects  of  the  environment  and  to  direct 
action.  Compulsory  attention.  Voluntary  attention. 
Spontaneous  attention.  The  orator  should  seek  for  spon- 
taneous attention  by  keeping  in  line  with  the  hearer's 
dominant  interest.  Its  scope.  Its  constant  shifting  from 
one  object  to  another.  Its  fluctuations.  Three  different 
wave-lengths  noted. 

CHAPTER  IX 
VOLUNTARY  ACTION 186 

Responsiveness  of  the  living  being  to  its  surroundings. 
These  responses  leave  modifications  in  the  organism. 
Modes  of  responsiveness  characterizing  the  vegetable, 
animal,  and  human  grades  of  life.  Increasing  complexity 
of  organisms  as  the  grades  are  ascended.  Corresponding 
psychical  development.  The  distinctive  mark  of  volun- 
tary action.  Life  is  onward-moving,  forth -reaching.  On 
the  human  level  it  is  also  consciously  directed  toward 
ends.  The  higher  and  more  distant  the  end,  the  more  vol- 
untary the  act.  The  problem  of  freedom.  Is  freedom  an 
illusion,  or  is  necessity?  The  relation  of  feeling  to  volun- 
tary action.  The  preacher  interested  primarily  in  the 
character  of  the  mental  processes  rather  than  the  overt  act. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  X  PAGE 

SUGGESTION 209 

Distinction  between  normal  and  abnormal  suggestion. 
Three  types  of  organisms  —  the  aggressive,  the  stubborn 
(or  resistant),  and  the  passive.  Suggestibility  varies  in- 
versely as  the  insistence  of  the  organism  on  its  autonomy. 
Varies  inversely  as  the  mental  equipment  and  organization. 
Suggestible  classes  —  children,  women  (about  certain  mat- 
ters), those  who  have  lived  in  a  narrow  environment, 
those  without  stable  mental  life.  Normal  suggestion 
should  be  indirect.  Securing  the  confidence  of  the  subject 
important.  High  emotion  increases  suggestibility.  Im- 
portance of  repetition.  Suggestion  as  contrasted  with  ra- 
tional persuasion,  which  should  be  the  aim  of  the  preacher. 


CHAPTER  XI 
ASSEMBLIES 236 

The  accidental  concourse.  Psychology  of  the  street 
throng.  The  inspirational  gathering.  Three  stages  of 
psychic  fusion.  The  passing  of  the  assembly  into  the  sec- 
ond and  third  stages  a  process  of  inhibiting  rational  con- 
trol. Individuals  not  equally  susceptible  to  crowd-sugges- 
tion. Methods  of  promoting  psychic  fusion  —  close  seat- 
ing of  the  people,  concerted  bodily  movement,  singing, 
passionate  oratory.  Emotions  best  adapted  to  produce 
fusion  —  fear,  anger,  the  tender  feeling,  the  sentiment  of 
liberty,  the  love  of  old  things.  Is  the  process  of  psychic 
fusion  conducive  to  genuine  religious  experience?  The 
psychology  of  the  deliberative  body. 


CHAPTER  XII 
MENTAL  EPIDEMICS 265 

The  sweep  of  a  common  emotional  excitement  over  a 
social  group.  Results  either  from  like  response  to  same 
stimuli  or  from  communication  of  feeling,  or  from  both. 
The  mental  epidemic  is  wave-like.  Each  wave  of  collective 
emotion  is  followed  by  a  reaction^in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion. Two  powerful  mental  epidemics  can  not  occur  at  the 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

same  time  in  the  same  group.  They  spread  along  lines  of 
mental  homogeneity.  An  uncultured  population  specially 
subject  to  extreme  excitements.  They  occur  readily  as  to 
matters  about  which  the  group  has  little  or  no  experience; 
but  often  experience  is  a  predisposing  cause.  Often  the 
prevalence  in  a  population  of  a  certain  temperamental  type 
renders  the  group  more  suggestible.  In  primitive  stage 
of  society  such  epidemics  quite  frequent;  and  spread 
readily  in  all  directions.  In  the  middle  stage  the  caste 
system  prevails  and  mental  epidemics  spread  only  within 
class  lines.  In  modern  industrial  society  they  are  less  in- 
tense, more  diffusive  and  less  durable.  Excessive  phe- 
nomena of  this  type  are  becoming  rarer. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES 290 

These  types  real  and  important,  notwithstanding  indi- 
vidual variations  within  the  type.  First,  the  ministerial 
type.  Breadth  of  the  minister's  occupation.  Narrowing 
tendencies.  The  habit  of  dogmatism.  Habitual  gravity  of 
tone  and  manner.  The  demand  of  modern  life  for  a  buoy- 
ant and  happy  disposition.  The  minister  a  moral  pathol- 
ogist. But  tends  to  over-emphasize  loyalty  to  the  eccle- 
siastical institution  as  a  virtue.  Economic  dependence 
tends  to  mould  the  type  unfortunately.  Spiritual  leader- 
ship requires  independence  of  spirit  Second,  the  labour- 
ing class  type.  The  condition  of  the  labourer's  life  as 
affecting  his  intelligence.  His  labour  is  physical,  long  con- 
tinued, exhausting.  He  deals  only  with  material  reality, 
and  that  of  the  grosser  kind.  Works  in  a  social  vacuum. 
His  leisure  is  brief.  His  life  in  the  cities,  however,  stim- 
ulates intelligence.  His  life  conditions  prevent  a  high  de- 
velopment of  his  emotional  nature;  and  set  serious  limi- 
tations upon  his  ethical  development.  Relation  of  the  min- 
ister to  the  labourer's  problem.  Third,  the  business  type. 
Definition  of  "  business  man."  His  importance  in  modern 
life.  His  intellectual  characteristics.  Deals  with  quanti- 
ties which  can  be  weighed  and  measured,  which  gives  him 
practical,  non-theoretical  mind,  and  disposes  him  to  a 
quantitative  evaluation  of  things.  In  ethics  this  type 
places  emphasis  upon  the  practical  virtues  which  lie  at  the 
basis  of  successful  business.  A  double  standard  of  ethics. 
Religious  life  similarly  affected.  The  type  is  non-mystical, 
non-theological,  "practical,"  non-sectarian.  Its  influence 
upon  the  religious  tendencies  of  to-day. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XIV  PAGE 

THE  MODERN  MIND 338 

Two  general  factors  of  the  environment  —  the  natural 
and  the  human.  Under  primitive  conditions  the  natural 
factors  were  dominant.  Men  lived  in  the  midst  of  mys- 
terious, uncontrolled  nature.  Human  groups  were  small, 
with  little  communication,  *  and  with  simple  organization. 
The  world  was  filled  with  non-human  spirits.  Natural 
phenomena  given  a  religious  interpretation.  Under  mod- 
ern conditions  —  best  represented  by  city  life  —  the  human 
and  humanly  controlled  factors  of  environment  domi- 
nate man's  consciousness.  Men  have  little  contact  with 
original  nature.  Dangers,  diseases,  success  and  failure 
originate  largely  in  social  conditions.  Modern  man's 
familiarity  with  machinery.  Human  contacts  and  the 
social  organization  preoccupy  attention.  The  great  de- 
velopment of  science.  Modern  man  can  not  tolerate  lone- 
liness. Aesthetic  interest  in  nature  develops.  Life  ad- 
justs itself  to  the  rhythms  of  social  life  rather  than  the 
rhythms  of  nature.  Strenuousness  of  life  increases.  The 
passion  for  achievement  grows.  Interest  in  future  life  de- 
clines. Scientific  answers  to  all  questions  desired.  The 
universe  of  natural  phenomena  depersonalized.  Confusion 
as  to  the  relation  of  God  to  the  natural  world.  Re- 
ligious interpretation  of  life  declining.  The  social  struggle 
acute,  and  colours  all  thinking.  Emphasis  on  the  ethical 
aspect  of  life  and  religion.  Christianity  born  in  an  age 
not  unlike  this,  and  corrupted  as  the  world  reverted  to 
primitive  conditions.  Present  conditions,  on  the  whole, 
favourable  to  the  revival  of  original  Christianity. 


PSYCHOLOGY  AND 
PREACHING 

CHAPTER  I 

GENERAL  CONTROLS  OF  CONDUCT 

WE  are  accustomed  to  think  of  ourselves  as  rational  be- 
ings, i.e.,  as  persons  who  are  guided  in  our  activities  by  ra- 
tional considerations;  but  if  we  scrutinize  our  conduct  we 
shall,  perhaps,  be  surprised  to  discover  what  a  large  propor- 
tion of  our  actions  are  never  reflected  upon,  but  are  per- 
formed under  the  impulsion  of  certain  tendencies  which  at 
best  are  but  imperfectly  subject  to  the  control  of  reason, 
even  when  the  conscious  effort  is  made  to  resist  or  to  guide 
them,  and  which  usually  influence  us  without  being  con- 
sciously guided  at  all.  After  infancy  reason  can  and  does 
exercise  a  general  and,  in  the  developing  personality,  a 
stronger  regulative  supervision  over  these  tendencies  or- 
ganized in  us.  But  it  is  doubtless  true  that  at  best  they  in- 
fluence the  rational  processes  quite  as  much  as  the  rational 
processes  influence  them;  and  it  can  hardly  be  questioned 
that  in  the  majority  of  human  beings  they  actually  do  more 
in  determining  the  conclusions  reached  by  thinking  than 
thinking  does  in  regulating  them.  What  are  the  general 
controls  of  conduct? 

I.  Reflexes.  A  reflex  act  "  is  one  in  which  a  muscular 
movement  occurs  in  immediate  response  to  a  sensory  stim- 
ulation without  the  interposition  of  consciousness/' l  This 
immediacy  of  response  seems  to  be  due  to  the  fact  that  in 
the  nervous  organization,  especially  that  part  of  it  located 

*  Angell,  "  Psychology,"  p.  286. 

r 


2  PSYCHOLOGY   A>TD  PREACHING 

in  the  spinal  cord,  certain  \ngoing  and  outgoing  nerves  are 
closely  connected,  so  that  the  impulse  started  by  the  sensa- 
tion goes  straight  on  through  without  being  diverted  in  its 
course.  Consciousness  may  be  aroused  and  may  to  a  cer- 
tain extent  be  able  to  inhibit  the  responsive  act;  though 
that  is  often  not  possible.  If  one  touches  a  red-hot  iron  he 
will  almost  inevitably  jerk  back  his  hand;  and  it  requires 
the  most  strenuous  exertion  of  the  will  to  inhibit  this  re- 
flex muscular  action.  Only  for  a  little  while  can  we  stop 
the  winking  of  the  eyes,  and  if  a  cinder  enters  the  eye  we 
can  not  resist  the  tendency  to  shut  the  lids.  Ordinarily 
and  normally,  reflex  actions  go  on  without  awakening  con- 
sciousness; but  under  certain  conditions  the  nervous  im- 
pulse instead  of  passing  immediately  and  entirely  through 
the  outgoing  nerve  to  produce  a  motor  response,  radiates  in 
some  measure  to  nervous  centres  which  are  located  higher 
up  and  which  directly  condition  consciousness.  These  re- 
flex actions  are  not  automatic  in  the  sense  in  which  the  proc- 
esses of  digestion  and  circulation  of  the  blood  and  other 
so-called  automatisms  are;  for  the  latter  are  not  in  any 
appreciable  measure  subject  to  the  immediate  control  of 
the  will,  however  much  they  may  be  indirectly  and  gradually 
modified  by  conscious  attitudes.  These  automatisms  are 
physiological  and,  although  of  the  greatest  importance  to 
public  speaking,  can  not  properly  be  treated  in  a  discussion 
of  psychological  phenomena.  To  be  sure,  they  might  with 
a  considerable  show  of  reason  be  regarded  as  reflexes  of  a 
more  fundamental  and  thoroughly  organized  character;  or 
the  reflexes  might  be  regarded  as  automatisms  a  little  less 
rigidly  organized  and  a  little  more  exposed  to  the  direct 
interference  of  consciousness. 

We  need  not  dwell  upon  the  reflexes,  though  they  are  not 
without  interest  to  the  speaker  in  some  respects.  As  he 
stands  before  an  audience  he  is  an  object  of  sense  to  them; 
he  influences  them  mainly,  if  not  exclusively,  through  eye 
and  ear  sensations,  and  many  of  the  responses  he  evokes 
from  them  are  of  the  reflex  type ;  and  many  of  their  move- 


GENERAL   CONTROLS   OF   CONDUCT  3 

ments  are  reflexive  actions  in  response  to  the  sensations 
arising  from  their  physical  circumstances.  Especially  is  this 
true  of  children,  who  have  little  power  to  restrain  these 
reflexive  tendencies.  But  far  more  important  are — 

II.  The  instincts.  Instincts  may  be  defined  either  in 
terms  of  structure  or  of  function.  First,  as  to  structure. 
If  we  think  of  a  reflex  as  a  direct  connection  or  co-ordina- 
tion of  a  nerve  which  receives  a  sensation  with  a  nerve 
which  controls  the  movement  of  a  muscle,  so  that  the  stim- 
ulation of  the  first  causes  an  immediate  contraction  of  the 
second,  then  the  best  way  to  think  of  an  instinct  on  its 
physical  side  is  as  a  combination  or  complication  of  a 
number  of  reflexes;  so  that  the  stimulation  of  a  nerve 
which  receives  the  sensation  is  followed  by  a  series  of  re- 
flex actions  terminating  finally  in  an  adaptive  movement  of 
the  body.  The  dividing  line  between  the  reflex  and  the  in- 
stinct is  not  easy  to  draw.  Perhaps  it  is  better  to  say  that 
the  one  gradually  merges  into  the  other.  But  the  char- 
acteristic mark  of  the  first  is  simplicity,  and  of  the  second, 
complexity  of  nervous  co-ordination.  Second,  as  to  func- 
tion, it  may  be  defined  "  as  the  faculty  of  acting  in  such  a 
way  as  to  produce  certain  ends,  without  foresight  of  the 
ends,  and  without  previous  education  in  the  performance."  1 
"  Instincts  are  functional  correlations  of  structure."  An- 
gell  says :  '*  If  the  activity  involves  a  number  of  acts,  each 
one  of  which,  considered  singly  and  alone,  is  relatively  use- 
less, but  all  of  which  taken  together  lead  up  to  some  adap- 
tive consequence,  such  as  the  building  of  a  nest,  the  feeding 
of  young,  etc.,  it  will  be  safe  to  call  the  action  instinctive."  2 
McDougall  defines  an  instinct  "  as  an  inherited  or  innate 
psycho-physical  disposition  which  determines  its  possessor 
to  perceive,  and  to  pay  attention  to,  objects  of  a  certain 
class,  to  experience  an  emotional  excitement  of  a  particular 
quality  upon  perceiving  such  an  object,  and  to  act  in  regard 
to  it  in  a  particular  manner,  or,  at  least,  to  experience  an 

1  James,  "  Psychology,  Briefer  Course,"  p.  391. 

2  "  Psychology,"  p.  288. 


4  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

impulse  to  such  action."  *•  This  very  carefully  framed 
definition  seems  to  include  too  much  in  the  way  of  intel- 
lectual process  for  instinctive  action,  pure  and  simple ; 
but  doubtless  describes  quite  accurately  the  operation  as  it 
actually  takes  place  in  the  higher  animals  and  in  men,  in 
whom  it  rarely  or  never  occurs  without  involving  intel- 
lectual and  emotional  processes  which  are  not  strictly  parts 
of  it. 

In  brief,  we  may  sum  up  by  saying  that  an  instinct  is, 
structurally,  a  certain  inherited,  complex  co-ordination  of 
nerves;  and,  functionally,  an  inherited  tendency  to  act  in 
a  certain  way  in  the  presence  of  certain  stimuli.  To  what 
extent  does  it  involve  consciousness?  That  is  difficult  to 
say.  But  it  seems  to  be  well  established  that  consciousness 
in  any  clear  and  definite  sense  of  the  term  —  what  is  some- 
times called  "  correlated  consciousness  " —  is  connected  only 
with  the  upper  brain  centres,  the  cerebral  cortex;  and  in 
animals  whose  nervous  systems  have  not  developed  these 
higher  functions  the  instinctive  adjustments  are  made  with- 
out consciousness.  Consciousness  is  involved  just  so  far 
as  the  cortex  is  developed  and  correlated  with  the  lower 
instinctive  centres.  As  James  says,  "  there  is  no  fore-sight 
of  the  ends,"  and  where  there  is  no  fore-sight  of  ends  it  is 
reasonable  to  suppose  that  there  is  just  as  little  conscious 
realization  of  the  meaning  of  the  action  for  the  organism  — 
i.e.,  there  is  little  or  no  emotional  interpretation  of  the 
action,  although  the  physical  aspects  of  emotional  experience 
are  present.  Sensation  must  be  very  unclear  and  the  feel- 
ing-tones very  slight,  if  present  at  all.  Other  things  being 
equal,  consciousness  becomes  more  clear,  luminous,  intense 
as  the  scale  of  organic  complexity  is  ascended ;  and  this  is  as 
true  with  respect  to  feeling  on  its  conscious  side  as  it  is  with 
respect  to  intelligence. 

Instinct  is  sometimes  called  racial  habit.  This  has  the 
sound  of  a  felicitous  phrase,  and  seems  to  give  an  insight 
into  its  real  nature ;  but  it  also  seems  to  imply  the  transmis- 

1 "  Social  Psychology,"  p.  29. 


GENERAL  CONTROLS  OF  CONDUCT  5 

sion  of  acquired  characters  from  one  generation  to  another. 
How  else  could  a  race  consisting  of  a  succession  of  distinct 
persons  acquire  a  habit?  But  the  weight  of  scientific  opin- 
ion is  decidedly  against  this  assumption.  It  is,  therefore, 
better  not  to  speak  of  instincts  as  racial  habits,  notwithstand- 
ing the  very  obvious  superficial  likeness ;  for  they  seem  to 
constitute  a  class  of  phenomena  quite  different  from  habits. 
One  of  the  characteristic  marks  of  a  habit  is  that  it  is  not 
transmissible  by  heredity,  whereas  one  of  the  most  char- 
acteristic marks  of  an  instinct  is  that  it  is  hereditary.  A 
habit  is  acquired  in  and  by  individual  experience ;  an  instinct 
is  given  at  the  beginning  of  experience  —  certainly  so  far  as 
the  individual  is  concerned.  The  problem  of  the  origin  and 
perpetuation  of  instincts,  since  they  are  racial  traits,  is  one 
with  the  origin  and  perpetuation  of  species;  and  these  are 
problems  which  do  not  come  within  the  scope  of  a  psycho- 
logical discussion,  though  they  do  have  a  most  important 
bearing  upon  the  philosophical  interpretation  of  the  in- 
stincts. 

But  important  for  this  discussion  are  the  facts  that  they 
are  racial  traits,  that  they  are  inherited  and  that  they  are 
the  most  significant  controls  of  conduct  with  which  the  in- 
dividual begins  his  career  in  the  world.  There  are,  how- 
ever, individual  variations  in  instincts.  The  same  instincts 
are  far  from  being  equally  strong  in  different  individuals, 
though  they  are  all  present  in  all  normal  examples  of  the 
species.  The  instinct  of  flight,  for  instance,  is  very  strong 
in  some,  and  very  weak  in  others;  and  so  with  all  the  in- 
stincts. One  instinct  may  be  dominant  in  one,  and  a  quite 
different  instinct  dominant  in  another  individual;  and  by 
reason  of  the  dominancy  of  one  or  another  of  the  instincts, 
the  same  stimulus  may  provoke  a  different  instinctive  re- 
sponse in  different  individuals.  The  situation  which  pro- 
duces self-abasement  in  one  may  excite  self-assertion  in  an- 
other. The  fact  of  individual  variation  in  the  strength  of 
the  instincts  is  too  much  a  matter  of  every-day  observa- 
tion to  require  emphasis  here. 


6  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

A  fact  not  so  obvious  but  quite  as  important  is  that  the 
instincts  can  be  modified  in  their  strength  by  experience. 
Habit  —  which  will  be  discussed  in  a  later  section  of  this 
chapter  —  reinforces  some  and  weakens  others.  A  person 
born  with  the  fear  instinct  dominant  may,  by  cultivating 
persistently  his  weaker  instinct  of  pugnacity  or  aggres- 
siveness, overcome  to  a  large  extent  this  original  handi- 
cap. One  born  with  the  appropriating  instinct  in  normal 
strength  may  by  the  formation  of  the  proper  habit  very 
much  reduce  it,  and  develop  a  character  of  great  liberality 
and  generosity;  or  magnify  it  until  it  becomes  the  supreme 
principle  of  conduct  and  so  develop  a  character  of  un- 
scrupulous covetousness.  While,  therefore,  instincts  are 
in  a  certain  measure  fixed,  they  are  far  from  being  abso- 
lutely unchangeable  factors  of  experience.  The  environ- 
ment in  which  the  person  lives,  especially  the  part  of  it 
which  he  is  brought  into  direct  relation  with,  acts  as  a 
selective  influence,  stimulating  some  of  his  instincts  and 
developing  them  to  greater  power;  and,  by  leaving  others 
without  stimulation,  inevitably  condemns  them  to  be  weak- 
ened through  atrophy.  By  way  of  application  it  may  be 
remarked  in  passing  that  preaching  is  one  method,  and  may 
be  a  very  effective  one,  of  bringing  the  person  into  more 
vital  and  stimulating  relation  with  certain  most  important 
phases  of  his  environment  and  thus  may  gradually  tut 
powerfully  modify  the  strength  of  his  various  instincts. 

Another  fact  of  prime  importance  is  that  the  instinctive 
organization  of  the  human  species  is  much  less  definite, 
fixed  and  rigid  than  that  of  the  lower  animals.  The  in- 
stincts of  inferior  species  can  hardly  be  modified  by  exper- 
ience. However,  it  may  be  done  within  narrow  limits  in 
the  case  of  those  which  stand  highest  among  the  sub-human 
orders  of  life;  but  as  the  scale  is  descended  this  capacity 
becomes  more  limited,  until  finally  at  the  lower  end  it 
reaches  zero.  But  in  man  the  instinctive  organization  is, 
if  the  crude  expression  may  be  tolerated,  very  much  looser, 
and  is  subject  to  the  possibility  of  almost  indefinite  modi- 


GENERAL  CONTROLS  OF  CONDUCT  7 

fication,  though,  of  course,  it  cannot  be  annulled.  The  in- 
stincts are,  then,  and  continue  to  be,  most  important  factors 
in  determining  responses  to  the  environment;  but  they  are 
far  from  being  so  dominant  as  in  the  lower  ranks  of  life, 
and  do  not  act  with  anything  like  the  same  precision  and 
invariability.  It  may  be  true,  though  the  statement  cannot 
be  made  dogmatically,  that  in  the  history  of  man's  develop- 
ment his  instincts  have  on  the  whole  become  less  definite, 
less  rigid  in  the  regularity  and  uniformity  of  their  action, 
and  more  modifiable.  With  the  higher  development  of  the 
race  they  certainly  do  play  a  less  dominant  role  as  controls 
of  conduct.  This  does  not  mean  that  they  are  destined  to 
disappear  with  the  continued  advance  of  mankind ;  but  that 
other  controls  of  conduct  will  become  relatively  stronger. 

III.  Native  dispositions  form  a  distinct  class  of  psychic 
phenomena.  Sometimes  they  are  classified  as  instincts ;  but 
improperly  so,  unless  instincts  should  be  regarded  as  in- 
cluding all  inborn  tendencies.  It  seems  better  not  to  con- 
fuse them  with  instincts.  The  latter  are  definitely  or- 
ganized and  specific  nervous  co-ordinations.  Native  dis- 
positions are  not;  they  are  only  general  tendencies  of  the 
nervous  constitution.  One  may,  for  instance,  be  conserva- 
tive or  radical ;  irritable  or  placid ;  thoughtful  or  heedless ; 
brilliant  or  dull;  queer  or  normal,  etc.,  etc.  The  disposi- 
tions do  not  control  conduct  as  the  instincts  do,  by  the 
automatic  setting  off  of  a  pre-formed  series  of  nervous  co- 
ordinations. When  a  disposition  is  active  the  specific  motor 
responses  may  vary  greatly  according  to  other  conditions; 
but  the  disposition  will  impart  to  the  act  its  characteristic 
quality  and  direction.  The  conservative  under  the  control 
of  his  disposition  may  perform  a  great  variety  of  specific 
acts,  many  of  which  are  similar  to  those  of  the  radical 
whom  he  is  opposing,  but  manifestly  they  have  a  very 
different  meaning. 

Some  of  the  native  dispositions  are  transmitted  by 
heredity  and  some  are  not.  Unquestionably  many  racial 
and  family  traits  belong  to  this  class  of  phenomena  and  are 


8  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

so  transmitted ;  but,  it  is  equally  obvious  that  children  often 
have  constitutional  dispositions  which  are  peculiar  to  them- 
selves. If  under  the  head  of  native  dispositions  must  be 
classed  many  general  traits  of  an  hereditary  character,  so 
also  must  many  personal  traits  which  seem  to  represent  so 
many  individual  variations. 

It  is  needless  to  spea,k  of  the  importance  of  these  dis- 
positions. They  are  extremely  important  factors  in  every 
human  relation;  and  until  one's  native  dispositions  are 
known,  it  is  idle  even  to  guess  what  responses  he  will  make 
to  many  stimuli.  For  a  leader  of  men  they  are  of  the  ut- 
most significance.  But  they  are  so  very  different  in  dif- 
ferent people  and  in  the  same  person  are  often  compounded 
in  such  puzzling  ways  that  few  generalizations  concerning 
them  can  be  made,  and  the  study  of  them  in  individual  men 
alone  can  greatly  profit.  It  is  especially  the  preacher's  duty 
to  study  them  with  care. 

IV.  Consciousness.  Consciousness  is  so  intimate  and 
familiar  a  fact  that  we  seldom  stop  to  consider  the  marvel 
and  mystery  of  it.  We  can  not  define  it,  for  any  term  we 
can  use  in  the  definition  involves  it.  It  does  not  exist  as 
an  abstract  reality.  We  can  not  be  conscious  except  as  we 
are  conscious  of  something.  Concretely  it  occurs  as  sen- 
sation or  image  or  feeling-tone,  or  all  combined.  Some- 
times it  is  used  as  practically  synonymous  with  responsive- 
ness to  environment;  but  this  use  of  it  is  vague,  and  im- 
plies that  it  is  a  property  of  every  form  of  matter;  for  mat- 
ter in  every  form  is  in  some  sense  responsive  to  environ- 
ment. Such  an  idea  of  consciousness  is,  therefore,  unsat- 
isfactory and  leads  to  confusion  of  thought.  It  is  better  to 
use  the  term  in  the  ordinary  acceptation,  as  inward  aware- 
ness. It  may  be  described  as  an  inward  light  which  falls 
upon  the  stream  of  experience.  Let  us  think  of  it  as  ex- 
perience become  luminous. 

It  is  important  to  consider  the  conditions  under  which 
it  appears.  Parallel  with  the  decrease  of  the  definiteness 
and  dominance  of  the  instincts  in  the  higher  orders  of  life, 


GENERAL   CONTROLS   OF  CONDUCT  9 

and  most  notably  in  man,  runs  an  increase  in  the  complex- 
ity of  the  nervous  organization,  which  is  truly  wonderful  in 
the  brute  world,  but  in  man,  and  especially  in  highly  de- 
veloped men,  becomes  phenomenal.  If  we  think  of  a  nerve 
as  a  line  along  which  a  stimulus  is  transmitted,  the  highly 
complex  nervous  organization  of  a  cultured  man  presents  a 
system  of  such  lines  all  but  infinite  in  its  intricacy,  com- 
prehending subordinate  and  sub-subordinate  systems,  and 
all  so  inter-related  that  a  stimulation  affecting  any  part  of  it 
will  spread  to  larger  and  larger  areas,  according  to  the  de- 
gree of  its  intensity  and  to  the  general  condition  of  the  or- 
ganism; and  it  often  radiates  along  these  myriad  paths  of 
conduction  until  it  involves  the  whole  system.  This  in- 
crease in  complexity  of  nervous  organization  is  the  physical 
basis  of  a  corresponding  increase  in  the  number  of  possible 
reactions  upon  the  environment.  In  a  simple  reflex  act 
there  is  just  the  one  reaction  possible.  In  a  purely  in- 
stinctive action  the  reaction  is  more  complex  than  in  the  re- 
flex, but  there  is  still  no  alternative.  But  with  the  increase 
of  the  complexity  of  the  nervous  organization  the  organ- 
ism more  and  more  acquires  the  power  to  retain  and  revive 
the  impressions  made  by  past  reactions  and  to  utilize  them 
in  some  measure  in  making  subsequent  responses.  At  the 
same  time  the  various  sensory  areas  become  linked  up  to- 
gether. Thus  with  the  power  to  retain  and  revive  past  im- 
pressions and  the  linking  together  of  the  several  sense  cen- 
tres, it  becomes  possible  for  the  organism  to  react  in  sev- 
eral different  ways  to  the  same  stimulus ;  and  it  is  not  only 
possible,  there  is  a  tendency  for  it  to  do  so.  Naturally 
these  tendencies  often  conflict  with  one  another,  and  some 
means  of  resolving  the  conflict  is  needed.  It  is  just  here 
that  consciousness  makes  its  appearance.  These  conflicting 
motor  tendencies  create  a  general  tension  in  the  organism, 
which,  as  we  shall  see,  is  the  physical  basis  of  feeling ;  and 
the  means  of  resolving  the  conflict  is  the  revival  of  past  im- 
pressions, which  always  appear  as  mental  images;  and 
these,  as  we  shall  see,  constitute  the  elements  of  the  intel- 


IO  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

lectual  process.  The  organism  has  advanced  to  the  rank  of 
a  conscious  and,  according  to  the  measure  of  its  conscious- 
ness, a  self-directing  being.  The  instinctive  reactions  be- 
come less  definite  and  mechanical  and  fall  more  and  more 
under  the  direction  of  consciousness.  In  even  the  highest 
species  below  the  human  level  we  see  only  the  rudimentary 
stages  of  this ;  but  in  man  the  power  of  conscious  self-di- 
rection stands  out  as  his  crowning  trait,  the  mark  of  his  dig- 
nity in  the  universe  of  living  things. 

With  the  growing  complexity  of  the  nervous  organization 
and  the  retention  and  use  of  past  experience  —  in  a  word, 
with  the  development  of  consciousness  —  it  is  clear  that 
there  is  not  only  the  possibility  of  responding  in  different 
ways  to  the  same  stimulus,  but  also  the  possibility  of  re- 
sponding to  a  far  greater  number  of  stimuli,  i.e.,  to  more 
complicated  and  varying  situations  than  the  instincts  equip 
us  for  dealing  with  adequately.  When  the  instincts  prove 
sufficient  for  conserving  the  vital  interests  of  the  organism, 
the  environment  is  quite  simple  and  practically  unchang- 
ing. The  conscious  and  self-directing  organism  can  live 
and  move  successfully  in  a  larger,  more  varied  and  change- 
ful world.  The  more  the  consciousness  is  developed,  the 
larger,  more  varied  and  changeable  becomes  the  world  in 
which  it  is  possible  to  live  with  satisfaction;  and  it  is  hard 
to  set  any  limits  in  our  imagination  to  this  possible  develop- 
ment. 

It  would  seem,  then,  that  the  function  of  consciousness  is 
to  enable  the  organism  to  adapt  itself  to  a  complex  and 
variable  environment.  Unquestionably  it  does  this ;  but  this 
function  may  be  so  represented  as  to  carry  the  implication 
that  consciousness  is  simply  and  only  a  serviceable  instru- 
ment of  the  living  organism,  which  it  enables  to  survive 
longer.  But  does  this  not  "  place  the  cart  before  the 
horse "  ?  Is  consciousness  subordinate  to  the  animal  or- 
ganism? I  should  prefer  to  say,  and  it  seems  to  be  in  accord 
with  all  the  facts,  that  consciousness  is  a  higher  form  or 
manifestation  of  life,  and  that  on  this  higher  level  the  liv- 


GENERAL   CONTROLS   OF   CONDUCT  II 

ing  being  can  survive  and  find  satisfaction  in  a  larger 
world  —  is  in  correspondence  with  a  wider,  more  varied  and 
variable  environment,  and  can  develop  itself  indefinitely  in 
such  an  environment.  It  is  life  become  luminous  and,  as  it 
becomes  luminous,  dominating  and  controlling  its  environ- 
ment. Consciousness  marks  the  shifting  of  supremacy  from 
the  environment  to  the  living  being.  Life  below  the  con- 
scious level  is  subject  to  external  conditions;  can  only 
adapt  itself  to  those  conditions;  and  that  only  within  nar- 
row limits.  As  it  rises  to  the  level  of  consciousness  it  in- 
creases its  power  to  adapt  itself  to  those  conditions ;  but  its 
increased  adaptability  to  environment  is  less  signficant 
than  the  fact  that  as  it  becomes  conscious  it  acquires  the 
power  to  adapt  the  environment  to  itself  and  make  external 
conditions  and  forces  promote  its  ends.  Increasing  con- 
sciousness is  an  increasing  conquest  of  environment.  Its 
advent  means  the  increased  adaptability  of  the  organism; 
but  it  means  also  that  the  adaptability  has  become  creative. 
This  interpretation  of  the  advent  of  consciousness  in  the 
scheme  of  life  is  manifestly  correct  from  the  point  of 
view  of  science,  and  is  of  the  utmost  significance  for  phi- 
losophy. But  into  that  we  may  not  go. 

V.  In  connection  with  the  meaning  and  function  of 
consciousness  it  is  important  to  consider  habit.  When  an 
act  has  once  been  performed  it  is  easier  to  do  a  second  time, 
and  with  each  repetition  is  easier  still.  The  ease  with  which 
it  is  done  does  not  increase  uniformly;  there  is  a  certain 
rhythm,  or  tendency  to  rhythm,  in  the  formation  of  a  habit. 
But  the  general  trend  is  toward  increasing  ease.  As,  with 
repetition,  the  ease  increases  the  act  requires  less  conscious- 
ness in  its  performance.  Gradually  the  performance  drops 
below  the  level  of  clear  consciousness  and  finally,  perhaps, 
below  the  level  of  consciousness  altogether.  It  becomes 
automatic,  in  a  sense ;  "  it  does  itself."  The  explanation 
usually  given  is  the  formation  of  neural  pathways  through 
which  the  impulse  discharges  —  i.e.,  the  impulse  as  it  passes 
through  a  series  of  nerve  cells  tends  to  form  connections  be- 


12  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

tween  them,  meeting  and  overcoming  at  first  a  certain  resist- 
ance; but  the  connection  between  the  cells  becomes  more 
firmly  established  with  every  passage  of  the  impulse  over 
that  track,  and  so  the  resistance  becomes  less  and  less  until 
after  a  while  it  practically  ceases.  As  the  connections  are 
more  securely  fixed  and  the  resistance  declines,  conscious- 
ness disappears.  After  a  time  the  impulse  passes  through, 
almost  automatically,  along  this  line  of  no  resistance. 
Doubtless  this  is  as  nearly  as  we  can  describe  the  process. 
It  leaves  much  to  be  desired  in  the  way  of  explanation. 
The  existence  of  so  many  established  connections  or  "  path- 
ways "  involving,  it  would  seem,  the  same  nervous  elements 
it  rather  difficult  to  conceive;  but  as  yet  no  other  hypothe- 
sis so  plausible  has  been  suggested.  We  are  not  concerned, 
however,  with  the  physiological  basis  but  only  with  the  great 
significance  of  the  fact  of  habit.  There  is  no  capability  of 
the  organism  of  greater  practical  importance  than  this. 
The  reflexes  and  instincts  represent  the  individual  life  as  or- 
ganized at  birth;  the  habits  represent  the  life  as  organ- 
ized under  the  control  of  consciousness.  As  pointed 
out  above,  the  habits  may  modify  the  strength  of  the  in- 
stincts, and,  possibly,  in  some  small  measure,  of  the  reflexes 
also,  though  the  reflexes  and  instincts  are  not  thereby  elim- 
inated. The  habits  are  superimposed  upon  them,  and  act 
as  organized  reinforcements  or  inhibitions  of  them.  One 
may,  therefore,  through  the  formation  of  habits  organize 
his  life  to  an  almost  unlimited  extent.  The  true  psycholo- 
gist will  not  deny  that  new  impartations  of  life  may  be 
made  to  the  individual  life  from  the  psychical  universe; 
but  such  impartations  will  in  some  way  be  conditioned  by 
the  adaptation  of  the  individual  life  to  that  part  of  its  envir- 
onment, and  the  organization  of  these  newly  imparted  im- 
pulses or  forces  will  be  subject  to  the  law  of  habit-formation, 
and  the  formation  of  habits  takes  place  under  the  control  of 
consciousness.  When  once  the  habit  is  thoroughly  estab- 
lished, consciousness  is  not  concerned  with  it  longer,  except 
when  the  performance  of  its  characteristic  act  is  interfered 


GENERAL  CONTROLS  OF  CONDUCT  13 

with  or  when  there  is,  for  some  reason,  a  voluntary  effort  to 
change  it.  The  same  is  true  not  only  with  reference  to 
habits  of  action  but  with  reference  to  habits  of  thought  and 
feeling  also.  It  holds  as  to  the  whole  mass  of  habitual  proc- 
esses built  up  in  the  experience  of  the  human  personality  and 
constituting  the  personal  character. 

In  this  connection  we  may  note  a  distinction  between  the 
animal  and  the  human  organism  which  is  interesting,  if  not 
of  particular  significance,  for  our  specific  purpose.  It  is  a 
notable  fact  that  the  human  infant  is  born  with  a  nervous 
system  only  partially  organized.  In  this  respect  it  is 
broadly  distinguished  from  the  young  of  other  species. 
They  are  born  with  a  nervous  system  already  organized 
so  completely  and  fixedly  that  only  slight  modifications  of 
it  can  be  effected  through  experience.  But  the  human  child 
has  a  brain  mass  which  to  a  large  extent  is  without  organ- 
ization and  waiting  to  be  organized  in  personal  experience; 
and,  as  we  have  seen,  the  organization  with  which  it  be- 
gins its  career  is  less  fixed  and  definite  than  is  the  case  with 
animals  of  lower  orders.  Now,  this  looser  instinctive  or- 
ganization means  that  the  nervous  co-ordinations,  forming 
the  so-called  "  neural  pathways  "as  given  at  birth,  are  not 
so  thoroughly  established  and  that,  therefore,  the  impulses 
do  not  pass  through  to  motor  expression  so  free  from  re- 
sistance; hence  the  instinctive  reactions  of  the  human 
species  involve  more  consciousness  than  those  of  the  sub- 
human. But  the  difference  in  this  respect  appears  most 
notably  in  the  process  of  organizing  the  unorganized  mass 
of  nervous  substance.  This  is,  throughout,  a  process  of 
habit-formation.  But  habits  when  formed  have  not  the 
fixedness  of  the  instincts.  They  are  more  easily  inhibited, 
more  readily  modified,  and  in  a  life  of  varied  experiences 
are  undergoing  continual  change.  We  can  see,  then,  that 
consciousness  is  a  very  much  larger  factor  in  the  life  of 
man  than  in  the  life  of  the  lower  animal.  The  human 
consciousness  is  clearer,  more  intense,  more  definite,  larger 
in  volume,  if  the  expression  may  be  allowed,  than  the  animal 


14  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

consciousness.  Human  experience  is  far  more  luminous. 
We  often  make  the  mistake  of  reading  into  the  actions  of 
the  beasts  the  measure  of  consciousness  we  ourselves  pos- 
sess. It  is,  perhaps,  a  fortunate  error  and  leads  to  the  cul- 
tivation of  a  larger  sympathy  with  animals  and  to  a  more 
humane  treatment  of  them.  But  it  is  also  fortunate  for 
the  beasts  that  they  do  not  have  the  measure  of  conscious- 
ness that  man  has,  else  the  life  they  must  of  necessity  live 
would  be  intolerable.  Their  consciousness  in  its  sensa- 
tional, ideational  and  emotional  factors  must  be  exceedingly 
dim,  and  as  the  lower  end  of  the  scale  of  life  is  approached, 
it  is  a  question  whether  consciousness  in  any  clearly  defined 
sense  of  the  term  can  be  attributed  to  them.  As  we  go 
down  the  ranks  of  living  things  consciousness  must  ap- 
proximate the  zero  point. 

But,  though  the  human  species  is  marked  off  sharply  from 
the  brute  world  by  the  degree  of  consciousness,  we  must  not 
assume  that  all  men  have  the  same  measure  of  this  inward 
light.  The  more  highly  developed  the  man  is,  the  wider  the 
range  of  his  experience,  the  larger  the  fund  of  his  ideas,  the 
more  luminous  will  his  consciousness  be.  Especially  is  this 
true  of  the  man  who  lives  in  a  varied  and  changeful  environ- 
ment. We  have  seen  that  consciousness  is  developed  as  a 
function  of  adaptation  to  changes  in  the  environment  for 
which  the  instincts  are  not  adequate.  But  even  an  environ- 
ment so  complex  and  variable  that  the  instincts  will  not  suf- 
fice may,  however,  be  comparatively  simple,  stable  and  uni- 
form, so  that  the  formation  of  a  number  of  habits  may 
furnish  a  supplement  which  will  be  approximately  adequate. 
In  such  a  relatively  simple  and  uniform  environment  life 
becomes  "  rutty."  It  moves  along  in  the  same  channels 
from  day  to  day,  month  to  month,  perhaps  from  year  to 
year,  with  comparatively  few  unusual  events  to  disturb  its 
even  tenor.  Habitual  modes  of  doing  things  become  deeply 
ingrained.  The  consciousness  of  persons  so  situated  be- 
comes lax.  They  go  through  the  daily  routine  in  a  mental 
state  half  dream-like,  which  is  only  now  and  then  inter- 


GENERAL   CONTROLS   OF   CONDUCT  15 

rupted  by  flashes  of  more  intense  wakefulness  occasioned  by 
the  rare  occurrences  which  call  for  more  alert  consciousness ; 
and  in  these  extraordinary  moments  their  consciousness  is 
likely  to  be  confused  and  flustered  rather  than  alert  in  the 
proper  sense  of  the  word.  There  is  no  question  that 
the  character  of  the  environment  to  which  one  must  adjust 
himself  has  very  much  to  do  with  the  normal  state  of  his 
consciousness.  It  may  be  straining  the  word,  but  it  would 
not  be  far  from  the  truth  to  say  that  a  person  living  in  a 
simple  and  monotonous  environment  forms  a  "  habit "  of 
dim  and  misty  consciousness,  and  vice  versa.  In  the 
changeful  environment  mental  alertness  in  considerable 
measure  is  required  in  order  to  survive,  certainly  in  order  to 
prosper;  and  under  such  conditions  the  necessity  of  con- 
tinually readjusting  oneself  prevents  many  of  the  habits  of 
life  from  becoming  so  fixed  as  they  do  in  relatively  un- 
changing surroundings ;  but  since  as  a  rule  the  number  of 
activities  in  which  individuals  engage  in  such  complex 
surroundings  is  increased,  the  habits  formed,  while  more 
often  changed,  are  more  numerous. 

Now,  it  seems  to  be  a  law  of  social  development  that 
the  environment  in  which  men  normally  live  becomes  more 
complex  and  changeful  from  generation  to  generation. 
This  being  true,  the  inevitable  inference  is  that,  on  the  aver- 
age and  normally,  the  human  consciousness  rises  in  clear- 
ness, intensity,  alertness  from  age  to  age,  and  reason  be- 
comes an  ever  larger  and  more  dominant  factor  in  the  lives 
of  men.  The  conditions  of  life  become  more  stimulating; 
life  becomes  more  dynamic;  consciousness  becomes  more 
intense,  luminous,  regnant;  a  greater  demand  is  made  upon 
the  self-directing  capacity  of  the  personality. 

If  the  foregoing  statements  are  accepted,  it  would  seem 
to  be  an  inevitable  conclusion  that  the  function  of  persuasion 
assumes  greater  and  greater  importance  in  human  life  with 
each  upward  advance.  It  is  a  fact  which  can  hardly  fail  to 
arrest  attention  that  the  arts  of  persuasion  develop  with  the 
progress  of  society.  Oratory  is  born  with  liberty  and  dies 


l6  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

with  it.  As  men  become  more  free,  more  consciously  self- 
directing,  the  appeal  to  their  rational  nature  and  through 
that  to  their  emotions  becomes  more  appropriate  and  more 
necessary  if  one  seeks  to  influence  their  action.  On  the 
lower  levels  of  development  custom  and  physical  force  are 
the  prevailing  means  of  influencing  the  actions  of  men;  in 
the  later  stages  they  lose  their  effectiveness,  and  a  larger 
use  must  be  made  of  appeals  to  rational  and  moral  consid- 
erations. Literature  becomes  relatively  more  important; 
but  this  does  not  mean  that  public  speech  declines  in  power. 
It  must,  however,  follow  the  general  trend  and  become 
more  rational,  depending  less  upon  the  direct  stimulation  of 
the  basal  instincts,  crude  emotions  and  fixed  prejudices,  and 
more  upon  the  excitation  of  the  higher  feelings  by  the  pres- 
entation of  ideas.  Preaching  should  keep  pace  with  this 
movement,  and  if  it  does,  the  sphere  of  its  usefulness  will 
not  contract  but  expand.  If  it  be  true  —  and  at  most  it 
seems  to  be  true  only  in  a  relative  sense  —  that  preaching  is 
declining  in  power,  the  explanation  can  only  be  found  in  the 
defective  character  of  the  preaching.  Certainly  the  oppor- 
tunities for  influencing  the  actions  of  men  by  moral  suasion 
become  larger  and  more  various ;  and  if  preachers  find  their 
power  failing,  it  only  emphasizes  their  duty  better  to  adapt 
their  noble  function  to  the  changing  conditions  of  human 
life. 

VI.  This  chapter  should  not  be  closed  without  some  ref- 
erence to  the  perplexing  problem  of  the  subconscious,  al- 
though it  has  no  very  direct  bearing  upon  the  subject  of 
preaching.  Coe  1  has  given  a  good  summary  of  the  the- 
ories of  the  subconscious  as  follows :  "  Three  types  of 
theory  exist:  (i)  The  neural  theory,  which  holds  that  all 
deliverances  called  subconscious  are  due  to  restimulation 
of  brain  tracts  that  have  been  organized  in  a  particular 
way  through  previous  experiences  of  the  individual.  Ac- 
cording to  this  view,  there  is  no  subconscious  elaboration  or 
ripening,  but  only  plain  reproduction.  (2)  The  dissocia- 

1 "  The  Psychology  of  Religion,"  pp.  202-3. 


GENERAL   CONTROLS   OF   CONDUCT  17 

tion  theory,  which,  starting  with  the  fact  that  the  field  of  at- 
tention includes  a  penumbra  as  well  as  a  focus,  holds  that 
the  penumbral  items  of  experience  can  be  combined  and 
elaborated  while  remaining  within  the  penumbra,  and  thus, 
when  the  focus  of  attention  shifts  to  them,  can  appear  as 
ready  made.  (3)  The  theory  of  a  detached  subconscious- 
ness.  This  phrase  was  devised,  I  believe,  by  a  persistent 
critic  of  the  theory,  the  late  Professor  Pierce.  It  covers  all 
views  that  assert  that  each  of  us  has  a  *  double '  or  second- 
ary self,  an  understratum  of  psychic  existence,  possessed 
of  powers  and  character  of  its  own  that  outrun  and  are  sep- 
arate from  the  ordinary.  Here  belongs  the  notion,  wide- 
spread of  late,  that  God  is  present  to  us  as  this  substratum 
of  our  self  or  as  an  obscure  second  self." 

There  is  no  question  that  there  is  a  large  element  of 
truth  in  the  first  and  second  types  of  theory.  There  is  more 
question  as  to  the  third.  The  psychologists  are  rather  shy 
of  this  hypothesis,  which  is  due  to  the  fact  that,  in  the 
nature  of  the  case,  it  is  not  possible  scientifically  either  to  es- 
tablish or  disprove  it.  It  belongs  rather  to  the  realm  of 
philosophy  than  to  that  of  psychology.  But  there  is  no 
good  reason  to  doubt  that  at  least  it  points  in  the  direction  of 
a  truth.  The  individual  personality,  while  it  has  a  certain 
separateness,  is  rooted  in  the  universe.  The  human  organ- 
ism is  both  psychical  and  physical ;  and  there  is  no  good  rea- 
son to  suppose  that  in  this  two-fold  constitution  it  is  essen- 
tially different  from  the  universe  in  which  it  is  rooted.  So 
far  as  we  can  see,  the  universe,  as  at  present  constituted, 
is  also  psycho-physical,  whatever  may  be  one's  metaphysical 
theory  as  to  the  ultimate  priority  of  the  psychical  or  physi- 
cal. As  an  organism  of  this  general  type,  the  individual  is 
somehow  mysteriously  dove-tailed  into  the  universal  order. 
From  that  part  of  the  universe  which  we  know  as  physical 
come  flowing  into  the  physical  organism  of  man  below  the 
level  of  consciousness  elements  and  influences  which  pro- 
foundly influence  this  aspect  of  his  being.  There  is  no  good 
reason  to  doubt  that  likewise  from  that  part  of  the  universe 


1 8  PSYCHOLOGY   AND  PREACHING 

which  we  call  psychical  there  flow  into  the  psychical  organ- 
ism of  man  below  the  level  of  consciousness  impulses  and 
influences  that  extensively  modify  this  aspect  of  his  being, 
and  sometimes  break  into  the  realm  of  his  conscious  ex- 
perience. But  here  we  have  manifestly  passed  over  the 
line  that  separates  psychology  from  philosophy;  for  while 
there  are  psychological  facts  that  give  hints  and  intimations 
pointing  in  the  direction  of  this  conclusion,  psychology 
itself  cannot  make  any  authoritative  assertions  on  the  sub- 
ject. We  dwell  upon  it  here  in  order  to  emphasize  two  cau- 
tions. First,  the  psychologist,  because  he  cannot  make  a 
scientific  examination  of  the  metaphysical  roots  of  the  human 
personality,  ought  not  to  treat  the  matter  contemptuously, 
as  one  about  which  an  intelligent  opinion  cannot  be  formed. 
Second,  the  religious  philosophers  should  not  make  too  free 
a  use  of  this  mysterious  aspect  of  life  as  a  means  of  ex- 
plaining difficulties  and  solving  problems ;  should  not  use 
the  subconscious  as  a  convenient  "  city  of  refuge  "  when 
they  find  themselves  in  trouble.  The  proper  attitude  with 
respect  to  this  problematical  phase  of  human  experience  is 
one  of  scientific  reserve,  if  it  may  be  so  expressed.  It  indi- 
cates neither  safe  judgment  nor  a  disinterested  love  of  truth 
to  jump  to  conclusions  when  there  are  so  few  surely  at- 
tested facts  and  when  their  proper  interpretation  is  so  un- 
certain. It  is  better  to  confess  frankly  the  limitations  of 
our  knowledge  and  tread  warily  upon  the  brink  of  the  sub- 
terranean river  which  flows  through  the  cavernous  depths 
of  our  psychic  life.  Across  its  waters  our  feeble  torches 
cast  but  flickering  lights  and  into  its  dark  depths  our  vision 
penetrates  hardly  at  all. 


CHAPTER  II 

MENTAL   IMAGES 

WHAT  is  a  mental  image?  The  question  is  a  difficult 
one.  It  seems  to  be  a  copy  or  a  likeness  of  something;  but 
of  what  is  it  a  copy?  The  common  notion  is  that  it  is  a 
copy  or  likeness  of  something  which  is  external  to  the  mind 
and  exists  apart  from  the  mind.  But  if  we  think  more 
carefully  about  it  this  conception  of  the  image  seems  less 
satisfactory.  If  it  can  legitimately  be  called  a  likeness  at 
all,  it  must  be  a  likeness  of  an  object  as  experienced,  and  not 
as  it  exists  apart  from  experience.  Indeed,  are  we  justified 
in  saying  that  psychic  and  physical  phenomena  resemble  one 
another?  It  would  seem  that  the  two  orders  of  phenomena 
are  so  entirely  disparate  that  a  resemblance  of  a  fact  in  one 
series  to  an  object  in  the  other  is  out  of  the  question  —  un- 
less, indeed,  we  accepted  some  form  of  idealism,  or  the  ex- 
treme view  that  the  reality  known  is  constituted  in  the 
act  of  knowing.  Those  who  believe  in  the  thoroughgoing 
dualism  of  mind  and  matter  should  hesitate  to  say  that  the 
image  resembles  the  object  How  can  a  conscious  process, 
which  is  supposed  to  have  no  spatial  character  at  all,  be  like 
an  external,  extended,  space-filling  object?  What  prop- 
erties have  they  in  common?  It  would  seem  that  they  are 
fundamentally  and  absolutely  unlike;  that  there  is  no  com- 
mon term  and  no  possibility  of  comparing  them.  There  is  no 
way  for  the  mind  to  get  outside  itself  and  compare  its  own 
conscious  process,  the  image,  with  the  object  as  a  thing 
wholly  apart  from  consciousness.  What  is  that  external 
world,  as  existing  wholly  apart  from  consciousness,  and 
what  is  it  like  ?  We  have  no  means  of  knowing.  The  ques- 

19 


2O  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

tion  brings  us  up.  squarely  against  a  stone  wall  beyond 
which  we  cannot  go.  It  plunges  us  into  the  old  problem 
which  has  been  the  philosophical  puzzle  of  the  ages.  Really 
we  can  only  compare  states  of  consciousness  with  one  an- 
other. All  that  we  can  or  need  say  here  is  that  the  mental 
image  is  constituted  in  experience.  It  is  the  resultant  of  the 
reaction  of  the  conscious  organism  to  a  stimulus  —  perhaps 
is  that  reaction  itself  —  and  by  it  the  organism  is  enabled 
to  recognize  the  same  stimulus  when  it  recurs.  In  the  ex- 
perience some  modification  of  the  brain  substance  seems  to 
occur,  though  it  is  quite  difficult  to  conceive  of  the  exact 
nature  of  this  modification.  However,  it  seems  clear  that 
the  modification  of  the  cellular  structure  of  the  brain  can 
not  be  said  to  be  the  image,  because  the  latter  is  a  phase  of 
consciousness,  and  the  former  is  supposed  to  continue  to 
exist  during  a  lapse  of  consciousness ;  but  it  is  the  physical 
basis,  or  counterpart,  or  coefficient  of  the  psychic  fact.  In 
brief,  then,  we  may  define  a  mental  image  as  a  conscious 
copy  of  an  experience.  Further  than  this  we  cannot  go 
in  the  inquiry  as  to  the  nature  of  the  image  without  passing 
out  of  the  territory  of  psychology  proper  into  that  of  the 
theory  of  knowledge. 

I.  Forms  of  Imagery.  There  is  a  form  of  imagery  cor- 
responding to  each  of  the  modes  of  sensation  —  visual, 
auditory  tactual,  gustatory,  olfactory,  kinesthetic,  etc.  A 
perfectly  normal  person  would  be  able  to  form  mental  images 
corresponding  to  all  these  forms  of  experience ;  and,  there- 
fore, the  inner  world  of  images  should  be  a  psychic  counter- 
part of  the  whole  environment  as  experienced  in  sensation. 
But  the  perfectly  normal  mind  is  probably  not  in  existence. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  persons  differ  greatly  in  their  capac- 
ity for  the  several  forms  of  imagery.  Some  have  little 
capacity,  or  but  a  rudimentary  one,  for  visual  images,  while 
having  a  strong  faculty  for  auditory  or  other  forms;  or 
vice  versa.  Again,  those  who  are  endowed  with  an  excel- 
lent capacity  for  visual  images  may  be  able  to  see  with  the 
eye  of  the  mind  only  still  objects,  while  others  can  readily 


MENTAL   IMAGES  21 

visualize  objects  in  motion.  Here,  for  instance,  is  a  man's 
testimony  of  his  memory  of  a  great  fire.  He  heard  the 
bells,  the  tramp  of  feet  upon  the  side-walk,  his  own  puffing 
and  blowing  and  that  of  others  running  with  him  to  the  fire, 
the  noise  of  cracking  and  breaking  glass,  the  roar  of  the 
blaze,  the  excited  voices  of  the  crowd;  but  had  no  distinct 
visual  image  of  the  fire  itself.1  All  sorts  of  variations  oc- 
cur. Some  minds  revel  in  images  of  colour,  while  some  are 
almost  colour  blank ;  others  are  especially  rich  in  images  of 
form,  etc.,  etc.  By  far  the  greater  number  of  people  have 
the  capacity  for  visual  imagery.  Indeed,  only  a  very  small 
per  cent,  seem  to  be  destitute  of  it,  if  any  are  absolutely  so ; 
and  the  capacity  for  no  other  form  of  imagery  is  so  gen- 
erally possessed,  a  fact  which  indicates  that  the  eye  is  the 
most  serviceable  of  all  the  sense-functions.  However, 
those  who  are  relatively  destitute  of  the  capacity  for  visual 
imagery  are  by  their  very  numbers  of  sufficient  importance 
to  receive  consideration  from  public  speakers.  A  speaker 
who  relies  mainly  upon  visual  imagery  for  the  expression 
of  his  thought  is  likely  always  to  fail  adequately  to  convey 
his  meaning  to  a  considerable  proportion  of  his  audience; 
if  he  is  himself  deficient  in  visual  imagery,  his  efficiency  as 
a  public  speaker  will  be  most  seriously  curtailed.  It  be- 
hooves every  public  speaker  to  study  his  own  capacity  for 
every  form  of  imagery,  so  that  he  may  not  be  partially  in- 
sulated, so  to  speak,  from  some  of  his  hearers. 

It  is  not  easy  to  account  for  these  curious  variations  in 
the  capacity  for  the  several  forms  of  imagery.  The  ab- 
sence of  the  capacity  for  any  particular  form  does  not  indi- 
cate that  the  person  is  destitute  of  the  corresponding  sense. 
At  any  rate,  the  external  organs  of  the  sense  are  present 
and  seem  active.  But  that  is  not  by  any  means  a  sure  indi- 
cation that  the  man  is  really  getting  his  experience  in  terms 
of  that  sense.  The  non-visualist,  for  instance,  seems  to 
be  using  his  eyes  in  ordinary  experience ;  why  can  he  not 
recall  his  experience  in  terms  of  vision?  Probably  it  in- 

1  Scott's  "  Psychology  of  Public  Speaking,"  p.  30. 


22  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

dicates  some  obscure  defect  in  the  nervous  organization  by 
reason  of  which  the  visual  impression,  though  it  may  be  to 
some  extent  momentarily  serviceable,  is  not  definite  and 
deep  enough  to  be  recalled. 

In  passing  it  is  interesting  to  note  the  fact  that  the  char- 
acteristic form  of  one's  mental  imagery  has  an  important  in- 
fluence upon  his  mental  processes  and  modes  of  utterance. 
The  visualist  is  likely  to  be  slow  and  deliberate  in  speech, 
while  the  speaker  who  uses  mainly  or  largely  auditory  or 
kinesthetic  images  is  likely  to  be  more  rapid.  And  since  vis- 
ual images  usually  have  greater  distinctiveness  and  vividness 
than  others  —  or  perhaps  it  is  better  to  say,  possess  these 
qualities  in  greater  degree  for  most  minds  —  the  speaker 
who  is  particularly  strong  in  this  imaginal  form  is  likely 
not  only  to  be  more  deliberate  in  manner  and  utterance,  but 
also  to  be  regarded  as  clearer  in  statement;  and,  since  the 
logical  arrangement  of  ideas  is  always  spatially  conceived, 
he  is  more  likely  to  be  a  "  logical  speaker."  The  jumbling 
of  images  is  due  to  the  fact  that  they  are  not  clearly  visu- 
alized, and  illogical  arrangement  is  due  to  the  same  defect 
of  imagination. 

II.  Recall  of  the  image.  It  is  as  difficult  to  understand 
how  the  image,  when  once  it  has  passed  out  of  conscious- 
ness, can  be  recalled,  or  revived,  or  reconstituted,  as  it  is  to 
conceive  of  its  essential  nature.  The  image,  strictly  speak- 
ing, seems  to  cease  to  be.  The  physical  counterpart,  or  co- 
efficient, the  brain  modification,  seems  to  persist;  the  image 
itself,  however,  as  a  modification  or  phase  of  consciousness, 
disappears.  But  under  proper  conditions  it  reappears ; 
though  it  is  more  accurate  to  say  that  another  image  like  it 
appears  on  the  basis  of  the  impression  on  the  nerve-sub- 
stance, which  probably  has  persisted.  The  "  revived  "  or 
"  recalled  "  image  is  a  new  fact  or  phase  of  consciousness ; 
and  cannot,  therefore,  be  identical  with  the  original  one.  If 
they  are  thought  of  as  identical,  the  implication  is  that  the 
image  is  a  distinct,  substantive  entity  which  disappears  from 
consciousness  for  a  time  and  reappears,  without  having 


MENTAL   IMAGES  23 

ceased  to  be.  But  such  a  notion  is  untenable,  according  to 
modern  conceptions  of  mental  processes.  The  image  is  a 
fact,  a  functioning  of  consciousness,  and  when  it  disappears 
it  has  by  the  very  definition  ceased  to  be.  The  conscious- 
ness is  no  longer  functioning  that  way.  If  the  image  is  "  re- 
called," where  has  it  been  in  the  meantime  ?  A  very  ques- 
tionable metaphysic  underlies  this  terminology.  But  these 
terms  are  in  such  common  use  and  it  is  so  difficult  to  dis- 
pense with  them  without  substituting  for  them  cumbersome 
and  awkward  phrases,  that  I  shall  continue,  after  entering 
the  foregoing  caveat,  to  make  use  of  them. 

i.  Conditions  of  recall.  The  possibility  of  recalling  the 
image  after  its  disappearance  is  conditioned  in  several  ways. 
First,  an  impression,  if  it  is  not  reinforced  by  repeated  ex- 
periences or  by  repeated  revivals  of  the  image,  tends  to  fade 
with  the  lapse  of  time.  Hence,  as  a  rule,  the  difficulty  of 
recalling  an  image  increases  with  time.  Second,  the  impres- 
sion, which  is  supposed  to  be  made  upon  the  brain,  must  be 
strong  enough  to  effect  in  the  brain  cells  a  modification  of 
sufficient  depth  not  to  be  totally  effaced  by  succeeding  im- 
pressions. There  are  many  facts  which  seem  to  show  that 
subsequent  impressions  do  modify  and  weaken  preceding 
ones.  As  a  result  the  power  to  recall  any  image  decreases 
with  the  number  and  strength  of  the  impressions  made  sub- 
sequently. An  apparent  exception  to  this  rule  is  seen  in  the 
relative  ease  with  which  old  persons  recall  the  experiences 
of  early  life.  But  the  exception  is  only  apparent.  We  must 
remember  that,  other  things  being  equal,  the  impressions 
made  early  in  life  are  written  more  deeply  into  the  organiza- 
tion of  the  brain  than  those  made  later  in  life.  Relatively 
speaking,  the  earlier  impressions  find  the  ground  unoc- 
cupied, and  in  a  certain  measure  pre-empt  it;  and  the  or- 
ganism is  then  more  resilient  and  responsive  and  the  ex- 
periences, therefore,  more  intense  and  vivid.  When,  there- 
fore, the  disorganization  of  the  brain  takes  place  in  age,  the 
impressions  of  later  years,  not  being  so  deeply  organized 
in  the  nervous  constitution  as  those  of  youth,  go  first. 


24  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

Strictly  speaking,  this  is  a  phenomenon  of  the  disorganiza- 
tion rather  than  of  the  organization  of  the  mind.  Third,  the 
impressions  received  when  the  mind  is  alert  and  reacts  with 
energy  upon  the  stimuli  will  survive  longer  in  their  integrity 
than  those  which  are  received  in  moments  of  mental  relaxa- 
tion. Some  minds  do  not  habitually  react  with  vigour,  and 
do  not  therefore  have  much  retentiveness.  Some  react  with 
much  more  vigour  to  certain  classes  of  stimuli  than  to  others, 
and  their  retentiveness  varies  accordingly.  A  mind  that  is 
habitually  lax  and  slothful  finds  it  especially  difficult  to  re- 
vive distinct  and  definite  images  of  experience.  Its  mental 
reproductions  of  experience  are  a  sort  of  blur.  Very  often, 
certainly,  in  cases  of  poor  recollection  the  fault  is  to  be 
found  in  the  character  of  the  original  experience.  There 
was  not  sufficient  alertness;  the  mental  reaction  upon  the 
stimulus  was  not  vigorous;  the  impression  upon  the  brain 
was  indistinct  and  indefinite.  Such  an  experience  it  is  im- 
possible to  revive  clearly  because  the  experience  itself  lacked 
clearness.  We  may  state  it  as  a  law  that  the  vividness  of  the 
recalled  experience  will  vary  with  the  vividness  of  the  orig- 
inal experience.  It  cannot  be  too  much  emphasized  that  in 
cases  of  bad  memory  the  deficiency  in  all  probability  is  in  the 
state  of  the  attention  in  the  original  experience.  Because  of 
failure  here  many  public  speakers  find  themselves  deficient 
in  vivid  mental  images  and  effective  illustrative  material. 
Fourth,  each  impression  seems  to  be  modified  by,  or  in  some 
measure  to  blend  with,  or  somehow  to  be  linked  up  with 
other  impressions,  both  those  which  precede  and  those  which 
follow  it.  It  may  be  true,  therefore,  that  no  impression 
once  definitely  made  is  entirely  lost  from  the  brain,  except 
by  the  process  of  disorganization  referred  to  above.  It 
may,  however,  survive  not  as  a  distinct  impression,  the 
physical  basis  for  a  revival  of  a  distinguishable  individual 
image,  but  as  a  factor  in  a  total  composite  impression. 
This  linking  of  impressions  with  one  another  and  their 
reciprocal  modification  is  doubtless  the  physical  counterpart 
of  the  "  association  of  ideas,"  and  of  the  formation  of  con- 


MENTAL  IMAGES  25 

cepts  and  standards,  to  which  more  detailed  reference  will 
be  made  later.  Certainly  the  organization  of  the  images 
into  logical  wholes  facilitates  their  revival;  in  fact,  one 
might  say  that  the  facility  with  which  an  image  can  be  re- 
vived is  in  proportion  to  the  number  of  relations  established 
between  it  and  other  images. 

2.  Inexactness  of  the  recalled  image.  The  revival  of  a 
previous  experience  in  the  form  of  an  image  is  never  abso- 
lutely exact.  It  usually  is  sufficiently  so  to  serve  as  a  guide 
to  further  experience,  and  that  is  its  function.  If  it  did  not 
resemble  the  original  experience  of  all,  or  enough  to  in- 
sure recognition,  it  would  be  useless.  Ordinarily  our  mental 
images  serve  well  enough  our  practical  purposes;  but  it  is 
certain  that  all  the  details  of  the  original  experience  in  their 
precise  relations  and  proportions  are  never  reproduced. 
This  is  obviously  due  to  the  fact  that  each  impression  made 
upon  the  brain  is  in  some  measure  modified  both  by  the  pre- 
ceding and  succeeding  ones.  Wundt  says  in  speaking  of 
memory  images :  "  Memory  images  and  sense  perceptions 
differ,  not  only  in  quality  and  intensity,  but  most  emphatic- 
ally in  their  elementary  composition.  .  .  .  The  incomplete- 
ness of  the  memory  idea  is  much  more  characteristic  than 
the  small  intensity  of  its  elements.  For  example,  when  I 
remember  an  acquaintance,  the  image  I  have  of  his  face  and 
figure  are  not  mere  obscure  reproductions  of  what  I  have 
in  consciousness  when  I  look  directly  at  him,  but  most  of 
the  features  do  not  exist  at  all  in  the  reproduced  ideas.  Con- 
nected with  the  few  ideational  elements  which  are  really 
present  ...  are  certain  factors  added  through  contiguity 
and  certain  complications,  such  as  the  environments  in 
which  I  saw  my  acquaintance,  his  name,  and  finally,  and 
more  especially,  certain  affective  elements  which  were 
present  at 'the  meeting."1  Another  eminent  psychologist 
remarks  that  besides  the  loss  in  sensuous  liveliness  "  there 
take  place  in  apparently  the  most  perfect  reproduction 
slight  transformations  of  the  content.  Individual  ele- 

x" Outlines  of  Psychology"  (trans,  by  Judd),  p.  282. 


26  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

ments  appear  changed  in  form;  original  constituents  of  the 
sensation  are  left  out,  and  some  which  were  originally  not 
there  are  added.  To  what  extent  this  process  goes  on  in 
the  consciously  impressed  perceptual  image  and  how  inex- 
act the  reproduction  is  as  against  the  requirement  of  abso- 
lute agreement  "  l  recent  investigations  have  strikingly  dem- 
onstrated. Indeed  such  an  exact  reproduction  would  riot  be 
consistent  with  the  practical  purpose  of  the  image.  It 
would  violate  the  law  of  mental  economy.  Were  it  so,  the 
memory  would  soon  be  burdened  with  a  mass  of  useless  and 
therefore  meaningless  details,  which  would  gradually  impede 
action  until  the  mental  life  would  be  paralyzed  by  a  plethora 
of  valueless  material. 

Selection  is  the  characteristic  of  the  action  of  intelligence. 
From  the  countless  number  of  details  of  actual  experience 
it  selects  for  reproduction  in  images  and  organization  in 
memory  those  which  seem  to  be  worth  while,  i.e.,  which 
seem  to  be  useful  in  the  further  ordering  of  experience.  In 
each  act  of  reproduction  there  is  present  a  controlling  inter- 
est which  determines  the  selection  of  details.  This  is  true, 
as  we  have  just  seen,  in  involuntary,  and  is  especially  true  in 
voluntary,  reproduction.  This  holds  good  of  the  professional 
historian  as  well  as  of  the  story-teller,  though  in  the  two 
cases  the  interest  is  different.  With  the  historian  that  inter- 
est is  objective  truth.  If  he  is  true  to  his  proper  task,  he  is 
aiming  to  reproduce  past  events  in  their  actual  relations 
and  significance,  not  to  prove  a  proposition  or  to  produce  a 
given  effect  upon  his  reader  or  hearer.  But  he  can  not 
hope  to  reproduce  experience  as  it  took  place  in  detail;  he 
must  select,  because  it  is  practically  impossible  to  reproduce 
experience  in  all  its  details,  and  if  it  were  practicable  it 
would  be  of  no  value  even  for  his  objective  purpose,  which  is 
to  gather  up  facts  and  give  a  literary  reproduction  of  them 
in  their  significant  relations,  so  that  they  may  serve  as  a 
guide  in  further  social  action.  He  therefore  leaves  out  all 
that  is  not  necessary  to  give  the  significant  occurrences  of  the 

1  Elsenhans,  "  Lehrbuch  der  Psychologic,"  p.  169. 


MENTAL   IMAGES  27 

past  their  setting  in  a  true  context.  He  selects  and  or- 
ganizes his  material  with  that  object  in  view.  In  doing  this 
he  is  of  necessity  subject  to  the  general  laws  and  the  indi- 
vidual peculiarities  of  his  own  mind,  which  are  inevitably 
reflected  in  his  investigations  and  formulations ;  and  so  in  a 
very  real  sense  historical  narration  is  subjectively  condi- 
tioned. Since,  however,  the  historian's  aim  is  to  discover 
and  relate  the  significant  facts  of  past  social  experience  and 
thus  to  act  as  an  organ  of  social  memory,  his  interest  must 
be  objective.  The  moment  any  personal  interest  of  his,  such 
as  the  desire  to  advance  the  fortunes  of  a  political  party  or 
to  maintain  a  particular  theory,  influences  his  selection  and 
interpretation  of  materials,  that  moment  and  to  that  extent, 
his  work  is  vitiated  as  history.  In  the  narration  of  the  or- 
ator it  is  different.  His  interest  is  more  subjective,  and 
legitimately  so.  Whatever  his  purpose  may  be,  it  looks 
beyond  merely  a  true  reproduction  of  past  experience;  he 
aims  at  producing  some  more  or  less  definite  and  immedi- 
ate effects  upon  his  hearers,  to  persuade  them  of  the  correct- 
ness of  his  opinions  and  to  evoke  in  them  an  emotional  re- 
sponse of  some  sort.  Naturally,  therefore,  he  handles  his 
material  with  a  certain  freedom  which  is  not  permissible  to 
the  historian. 

Whether  the  story-teller  is  telling  an  imaginary  story  or 
narrating  an  event,  it  is  certain  that  he  will  be  guided  in  the 
selection  of  details  by  the  subjective  purpose  dominant  at 
the  moment.  Moreover,  he  tells  the  story  as  a  rule  when  in 
a  state  of  unusual  feeling.  Under  the  influence  of  high 
feeling  every  experience,  whether  actual  or  representative, 
is  materially  different  from  what  it  would  be  otherwise.  In 
the  first  place,  the  feeling  is  a  powerful  selective  influence 
determining  what  details  of  the  present  occurrence  or  of  the 
revived  image  will  receive  attention ;  second,  the  phases  of 
the  experience  which  are  thus  brought  into  the  focus  of  at- 
tention are  exaggerated,  are  felt  to  be  greater,  more  im- 
portant than  they  normally  are,  and  this  very  exaggeration 
of  them  tends  to  exclude  from  consciousness  other  phases 


28  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

of  the  experience;  third,  when  under  high  feeling  the  mind 
is  always  uncritical  and  fails  to  discriminate  between  the 
details  of  this  particular  experience  and  the  details  of  other 
experiences  which  may  have  become  associated,  and  are 
likely  to  be  revived,  with  it.  These  modifications  are 
likely  to  take  place  with  every  narration  of  the  story.  It 
is  easy,  therefore,  to  see  how  a  story  often  retold,  especially 
when  retold  under  the  stress  of  high  feeling,  comes  to  lose 
almost  all  resemblance  to  the  truth,  and  this  without  any 
intention  on  the  part  of  the  speaker  to  pervert  the  truth. 
As  to  the  matter  of  veracity  in  such  cases,  a  recent  writer 
says : 1  "In  creative  imagination  the  creator  is  aware  of 
the  modification  of  the  content.  Along  with  the  rest  of  the 
content  he  has  the  peculiar  factor  which  we  call  newness,  or 
novelty.  He  is  aware  that  his  content  is  a  new  combination. 
But  in  the  general  modification  of  content  which  we  men- 
tioned above,  the  person  is  less  apt  to  be  aware  of  the 
changes.  The  fisherman  who  magnifies  into  a  three- 
pounder  the  minnow  which  escaped ;  the  student  who  relates 
the  hard-luck  story  of  how  he  '  failed '  in  examination 
through  no  fault  of  his  scholarship ;  are  in  many  cases  quite 
sincere  and  base  their  tales  on  imagined  content  which  has 
undergone  progressive  improvement  since  it  was  experienced 
in  perception." 

This  is  a  matter  of  great  importance  to  the  preacher 
especially.  The  spirit  of  truth,  of  reality,  should  be  the 
very  atmosphere  in  which  his  discourse  moves.  He  is 
especially  given  to  the  relation  of  stories  of  his  own  experi- 
ence, or  that  of  others,  as  illustrative  matter ;  and  the  criti- 
cism is  often  heard  that  the  stories  told  in  sermons  are  in- 
credible, or  at  least  sufficiently  lacking  in  verisimilitude  to 
produce  a  most  disagreeable  and  hurtful  impression  upon 
those  who  listen  critically.  Those  whom  he  succeeds  in 
sweeping  along  on  the  wave  of  his  own  emotion  will  be  as 
uncritical  in  hearing  as  he  is  in  narrating  the  incident;  but 
the  calmer  and  more  careful  hearers  can  not  but  be  repelled. 

1  Dunlap,  "  A  System  of  Psychology,"  pp.  162-3. 


MENTAL   IMAGES  29 

More  than  once  has  the  writer  heard  harsh  judgments 
passed  upon  preachers  by  the  hard-headed  —  but  not  neces- 
sarily the  hard-hearted  —  hearers  who  did  not  understand 
the  psychology  of  public  speaking.  Such  hearers,  therefore, 
sometimes  attribute  to  the  preacher  deliberate  carelessness 
as  to  the  truth  —  a  charge  which  in  some  instances  may 
not  be  altogether  undeserved.  But  if  the  great  majority  of 
preachers  may  on  scientific  grounds  be  acquitted  of  the 
charge  of  the  deliberate  perversion  of  the  truth  in  such 
cases,  they  should  not  be  excused  from  the  duty  of  under- 
standing the  psychological  processes  involved  and  of  avoid- 
ing the  abuses  which  discredit  both  their  message  and  their 
personal  integrity.  "  That  man  lies,"  said  a  sturdy,  hon- 
est man  to  me,  after  he  had  heard  an  impassioned  evange- 
list tell  some  remarkable  stories  without  any  apparent  con- 
sciousness that  he  was  straining  the  credulity  of  his  audi- 
ence. Truth  may  be  stranger  than  fiction,  but  that  fact 
hardly  gives  currency  as  actual  facts  to  stories  that  bear  the 
obvious  evidences  of  having  been  shaped  up  for  the  occa- 
sion. 

III.  These  mental  images  are  our  intellectual  stock-in- 
trade.  They  are,  so  to  speak,  the  materials  of  mental  life. 
It  is  maintained  by  some  psychologists  that  it  is  possible  to 
think  without  images ;  but  it  is  an  open  issue  in  psychology, 
and  opinions  as  to  the  question  should  not  be  dogmatically  ex- 
pressed. It  is  a  question  of  fact  and  cannot  be  determined 
on  a  priori  grounds.  The  presumption,  however,  seems  to 
me  to  be  clearly  against  the  contention,  and  the  arguments 
for  it  seem  far  from  conclusive.  A  process  of  thinking  may 
take  place  without  any  images  of  the  things  of  the  original 
experience  appearing  definitely  in  consciousness ;  but  a  care- 
ful scrutiny  of  consciousness  in  such  cases  will  doubtless 
discover  that  there  are  images  of  some  sort  present  —  per- 
haps faint  traces  of  images  in  which  the  original  experi- 
ence is  representatively  present;  or  if  not,  images  at  least 
of  words  with  the  accompanying  "  feeling  "  that  they  can  at 
will  be  translated  into  the  distinct  images  of  the  experience ; 


30  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

and  the  probable  explanation  of  this  "feeling"  is  that  there 
is  a  nascent  reproduction  of  the  image  in  connection  with 
the  words  —  a  reproduction  which  is  too  inchoate  and  in- 
definite to  get  into  clear  consciousness,  but  is  sufficient  to 
surround  the  words  with  a  certain  shadow  of  the  imagery. 
If  there  is  no  other  imagery  present  except  that  of  the 
words,  then  the  original  experience  has  a  second  or  third 
hand  representation,  so  to  speak,  in  that 

The  original  experience  may,  then,  be  represented,  first, 
by  particular  concrete  images;  though,  as  said  above,  they 
never  represent  the  experience  without  modification.  Or, 
second,  it  may  be  represented  by  generic  images,  concepts, 
in  which  many  concrete  images  have  been  moulded  together 
into  a  sort  of  type.  But  all  the  qualities  or  marks  of  the 
concept  are  rarely,  if  ever,  in  consciousness  at  once. 
Usually  —  if  not  always  —  certain  of  the  qualities  or  marks 
which  belong  to  it  are  in  consciousness  doing  service  for  it 
and  performing  its  function  of  representing  the  original 
experience.  Or,  third,  the  original  experience  may  be  rep- 
resented only  by  the  word-images,  which  are  mere  signs  of 
concepts  and  may  be  used  in  the  economy  of  mental  life  as  a 
substitute  for  the  concepts,  into  which  they  are  always  con- 
sciously convertible.  Images  of  some  sort,  it  seems,  there 
must  be  if  conscious  mental  processes  are  to  go  on.  This 
seems  to  me  to  be  true  even  when  we  are  thinking  abstract 
relations.  Are  they  not  always  thought  in  spatial  terms? 
If  I  am  thinking  the  relations  represented  by  the  preposi- 
tions —  such  as  "  by,"  "  to,"  "  from,"  "  in,"  etc.—  there  are 
corresponding  spatial  images  of  location  or  direction  in  my 
mind.  And  so  it  may  be  accepted  that  we  think  in  images 
and  only  in  images,  of  some  sort  or  other. 

By  means  of  these  images  we  not  only  retain  or  revive  the 
past,  but  in  terms  of  them  alone  can  we  forecast  the  future. 
As  they  are  reconstituted  in  consciousness  they  bring  with 
them,  usually  in  proportion  to  the  adequacy  with  which  they 
perform  their  representative  function,  the  emotional  colour- 
ing of  the  original  experience.  It  is  by  their  means,  there- 


MENTAL    IMAGES  31 

fore,  that  the  continuity  of  our  conscious  life  is  maintained 
and  we  are  able  to  connect  the  future  with  the  past.  By 
them  we  realize  our  personal  identity  through  the  years,  and 
can  link  those  years  together  with  a  purpose.  They  are 
the  materials  out  of  which  we  form  our  plans.  With  them 
we  construct  our  ideal  worlds  and  build  our  systems  of  phi- 
losophy. As  already  indicated,  language  is  only  a  system  of 
conventional  signs  whose  function  is  to  represent  them  in 
their  relations  and  combinations;  and  language  is  meaning- 
less unless  it  is  the  conscious  bearer  of  this  precious  freight, 
•  i.e.,  unless  the  words  are  at  least  accompanied  by  the  "f eel- 
ing  "  that  they  can,  when  there  is  need  for  it,  call  into  con- 
sciousness the  images  for  which  they  stand.  That  royal 
function  of  mind,  imagination,  is  absolutely  limited  in  every 
phase  of  its  task  of  guiding  life  into  larger  and  larger  fields  of 
experience  by  the  number,  range,  variety,  distinctiveness  and 
vividness  of  these  images.  Whatsoever  sphere  of  activity  a 
man  is  engaged  in,  his  efficiency  will  depend  upon  the  range 
of  his  experience  and  upon  his  ability  to  make  an  effective 
use  of  it ;  and  this  is  equivalent  to  saying,  will  depend  upon 
the  number  and  variety  of  relevant  images  in  his  mind,  their 
distinctiveness,  their  vividness  and  their  proper  correlation 
with  one  another.  This  is  no  more  true  of  the  poet  or  the 
orator  than  it  is  of  the  man  of  action.  The  impractical  vis- 
ionary is  usually  supposed  to  be  a  man  "  of  too  much  imag- 
ination " ;  but  his  trouble  is  deficiency  rather  than  excess  of 
imagination.  It  may  be  that  he  has  too  few  images  or  a  too 
limited  variety,  i.e.,  his  experience  may  be  too  narrow.  Or 
it  may  be  that  his  mental  images  are  badly  correlated  with 
one  another.  As  he  uses  these  images  to  construct  his 
practical  ideal  and  to  lay  out  his  plans  for  its  realization, 
their  number,  variety,  vividness  and  organization  are  insuf- 
ficient to  enable  him  to  forecast  his  enterprise  in  all  its 
essential  elements,  to  "  see  "  it  in  mental  vision  in  proper  re- 
lation to  all  its  essential  conditions.  Hence  his  failure. 
The  trouble  is  that  he  sees  too  little,  not  too  much.  There 
are  difficulties  which  he  does  not  foresee,  relations  and  cir- 


32  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

cumstances  he  does  not  anticipate ;  and  upon  the  unforeseen 
his  plans  are  shipwrecked.  Therefore,  it  is  not  strictly  ac- 
curate to  call  him  "  visionary."  He  invariably  comes,  in  the 
execution  of  his  undertakings,  upon  conditions  which  he  did 
not  see  in  advance  and  which  are  vitally  important ;  and  for 
that  reason  he  is  ineffective. 

The  bearing  of  what  has  been  said  upon  the  quality  of 
literary  style,  spoken  or  written,  is  obvious.  The  public 
speaker  especially  needs  to  use  many  particular,  definite, 
vivid  images;  but  his  thought  must,  or  at  least  should,  be 
logical,  i.e.,  his  mental  images  should  be  properly  organized. 
As  the  images  are  organized,  they  assume  a  more  general, 
schematic  character,  become  concepts ;  and  as  the  process  of 
organization  goes  on  to  higher  and  higher  stages,  these 
concepts  become  more  and  more  abstract,  and  the  style  loses 
proportionately  its  realistic,  sensuous,  picturesque  character. 
A  study  of  the  evolution  of  language  brings  out  with  strik- 
ing force  the  fact  that  language  grows  more  abstract  and 
mental  imagery  less  concrete  and  sensuous  with  the  general 
advance  of  culture.  In  the  more  primitive  languages  there 
is  a  separate  word  or  form  of  a  word  for  almost  every 
simple  specific  act  or  movement  and  every  object;  while  now 
our  most  specific  words  usually  stand  for  classes  rather 
than  for  strictly  individual  things.1  It  is,  in  fact,  this  gen- 
eral tendency  which  sometimes  leads  to  the  belief  that  poetry 
declines  with  the  advance  of  scientific  knowledge.  But 
there  are  compensations.  If  with  the  growth  and  organiza- 
tion of  knowledge  there  is  a  tendency  towards  wider  and 
wider  generalization  and  the  emptying  of  words  of  con- 
crete reference,  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  in  some  direc- 
tions at  least  there  has  been  a  great  increase  in  the  fineness 
of  sense  discriminations.  There  has  doubtless  been  a  loss 
in  other  directions.  But  we  have  good  evidence  that  the 
modern  man  is,  in  the  appreciation  of  shades  of  colour  in 

lFor  an  interesting  discussion  of  this  characteristic  of  primitive 
language  see  "  Les  Fonctions  Mental  dans  Les  Societes  Inferieure," 
by  Levy-Bruhl,  pp.  131-159. 


MENTAL   IMAGES  33 

particular,  vastly  superior  to  men  in  lower  stages  of  de- 
velopment ;  at  any  rate,  the  freer  use  of  colour-terms  by  mod- 
ern masters  of  style  has  done  much  to  compensate  for  the 
losses  in  concreteness  and  vividness  in  other  directions. 
However,  the  terms  for  shades  of  colour  appeal  more 
strongly  to  persons  of  culture  —  especially  esthetic  cul- 
ture —  than  to  persons  of  lower  mental  grades,  as  we  should 
expect  from  the  fact  that  colour  appreciation  seems  to  have 
grown  with  the  general  advance  of  culture.  Such  a  mastery 
of  mental  imagery  as  will  give  access  to  the  minds  of  both 
the  lower  and  the  higher  order  is  not  easy. 

But  the  public  speaker,  and  especially  the  preacher,  should 
strive  to  achieve  excellence  both  in  the  concreteness  of  his 
imagery  and  the  breadth  of  his  generalizations,  so  that  he 
may  make  an  effective  appeal  to  all  grades  of  culture  in  his 
audience.  For  immediate  effectiveness  he  should  not  fail  to 
cultivate  the  power  to  recall  the  whole  range  of  his  experi- 
ence in  particular,  concrete,  definite,  vivid  images ;  and  this 
means  that  he  should  cultivate  the  habit  of  close,  concen- 
trated, energetic  attention  as  well  as  varied  observation. 
For  the  fact  cannot  be  too  much  insisted  on  that  if  the 
images  are  distinct,  definite,  clear,  vivid,  it  is  because  there 
was  alert,  energetic  reaction  of  the  mind  in  the  original  ex- 
perience. But  for  effectiveness  of  style  it  is  not  enough  that 
the  images  be  concrete  and  vivid  and  abundant;  they  must 
be  correlated.  A  chaotic  stream  of  vivid  images  is  not  ef- 
fective, except  under  abnormal  circumstances.  The  mind 
of  the  speaker,  and  especially  is  this  true  of  the  preacher, 
should  not  be  a  chaos  but  a  cosmos;  for  his  objective  is  not 
a  mere  aimless  play  upon  the  motor  impulses  of  a  thought- 
less throng,  but  the  moving  of  men  along  definite  lines  to- 
ward the  realization  of  individual  and  social  ideals  which  are 
the  embodiment  of  perfect  order. 


CHAPTER  III 

MENTAL   SYSTEMS 

THINKING  may  be  defined  as  an  effort  to  carry  out  or 
complete  an  arrested  response  to  a  stimulus  by  bringing  the 
revived  images  of  past  experience  to  bear  upon  the  situation. 
It  is  an  attempt  to  solve  a  present  problem  by  means  of  past 
experience.  The  problem  may  be  a  puzzling  practical  situ- 
ation, with  respect  to  which  one  is  uncertain  what  course  to 
pursue,  and  in  which,  therefore,  the  response  is  arrested  — 
i.e.,  a  state  of  things  in  which  the  instinctive  or  habitual  re- 
sponse is  not  adequate.  Were  the  situation  an  entirely 
familiar  one,  an  instinctive  or  habitual  reaction  would  be 
sufficient ;  there  would  be  no  need  for  thought,  and  it  would 
not  take  place.  "  Direct,  immediate  discharge  or  expression 
of  an  impulsive  tendency  is  fatal  to  thinking.  Only  when 
the  impulse  is  to  some  extent  checked  and  thrown  back 
upon  itself  does  reflection  ensue.  .  .  .  Every  vital  activity 
of  any  depth  and  range  inevitably  meets  obstacles  in  the 
course  of  its  effort  to  realize  itself."  1  But  the  problem  may 
not  be  so  immediately  practical;  it  may  be  a  problem  of 
curiosity,  and  therefore  chiefly  of  an  intellectual  character. 
The  practical  meaning,  the  proper  motor  response,  may  not 
be  obvious,  or  if  obvious,  may  not  be  immediately  required. 
In  either  kind  of  a  situation  the  thinking  process  takes 
place  in  an  effort  to  answer  one  or  more  of  the  questions : 
What?  When?  Where?  How?  Why?  These  ques- 
tions can  only  be  answered  by  correlating  this  situation  with 
the  rest  of  experience.  In  this  process  our  knowledge 
grows ;  our  experience  extends  beyond  the  narrow  limits  of 

1  Dewey,  "  How  We  Think,"  p.  64. 

34 


MENTAL  SYSTEMS  35 

the  instinctive,  and  not  only  extends  but  is  systematized ;  for 
experience  can  not  extend  beyond  its  rudimentary  stages,  can 
not  become  varied,  rich  and  adequate  to  the  needs  of  grow- 
ing life  except  as  new  individual  experiences  are  treasured 
up  in  the  organism,  represented  in  mental  images,  and  or- 
ganized into  systems. 

I.      PROCESSES   OF   ORGANIZATION 

i.  Concepts  built  up  in  various  fields  of  experience.  As 
pointed  out  in  the  preceding  chapter,  if  our  images  repre- 
sented original  experience  in  all  its  details,  and,  if  when 
revived,  appeared  in  the  accidental  and  often  haphazard 
order  of  the  original  sensations  they  would  often  form 
only  a  heterogeneous  multitude,  having  no  relations  of  prac- 
tical value  among  themselves,  and  the  very  purpose  of 
thought  would  be  defeated.  They  must  be  sorted  out,  asso- 
ciated together,  fused  into  types  or  moulded  into  concepts 
which  represent  whole  masses  of  particular  and  concrete 
experiences,  in  order  that  they  may  become  effective  tools 
for  our  use.  If  when  the  word  "  tree  "  is  mentioned  there 
were  called  up  all  the  detailed  images  of  all  the  trees  one's 
eyes  had  ever  rested  upon,  the  consciousness  would  be 
swamped  by  a  mass  of  useless  particulars.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  they  are  all  fused  and  fashioned  into  an  image  which 
represents  all  of  them  and  is  easily  recalled  and  used.  As 
one's  experience  extends,  the  concept  will  be  found  to  rep- 
resent a  class  of  objects  which  at  the  same  time  forms  part 
of  a  larger  class  and  divides  up  into  a  number  of  sub-classes. 
For  instance,  the  concept  "  tree  "  is  found  to  belong  to  a 
much  larger  class  of  objects,  plants  or  vegetables;  and  at 
the  same  time  to  include  a  number  of  varieties  of  trees. 
Thus  the  mental  organization  goes  on  by  a  process  of 
broader  generalization,  on  the  one  hand ;  and  discrimination 
and  division  on  the  other.  At  the  same  time  concepts  are 
forming  in  adjacent  fields  of  experience,  and  these  fields  of 
experience  are  coming  to  be  related  to  one  another.  While 
the  child  is  acquiring  the  notion  "  tree,"  he  is  also  forming 


36  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

the  concepts  "  bird  "  and  "  colour,"  and  many  others,  and 
will  be  weaving  them  into  a  more  or  less  complex  system  of 
relations  with  one  another,  because  they  all  lie  in  closely 
adjacent  fields  of  experience,  and  in  his  responses  to  stimuli 
coming  from  those  fields  he  has  almost  inevitably  connected 
them  together.  In  the  meantime  he  will  be  building  up  in 
somewhat  widely  separated  fields  of  experience  other  sys- 
tems of  ideas,  Before  long  these  widely  separated  fields 
will  come  to  be  more  or  less  closely  correlated  in  his  mind 
—  at  first  those  in  which  he  is  most  active  and  which  do  not 
lie  too  far  apart,  and  gradually  those  more  remote. 

2.  Reflective  and  unreflective  organization.  In  the  be- 
ginning of  the  construction  of  one's  system  of  ideas  the 
process  is  unreflective.  *  It  begins,  indeed,  in  the  instinctive 
and  largely  random  reactions  of  the  baby.  It  is  continued 
in  the  more  or  less  accidental  generalizations  and  formula- 
tions of  the  growing  child,  who  does  not  realize  that  he  is 
forming  concepts  of  the  various  kinds  of  objects  that  come 
within  the  range  of  his  experience  and  that  he  is  relating 
them  to  one  another  in  a  mental  system.  He  is  intent  only 
upon  the  satisfaction  of  his  active  impulses.  With  develop- 
ing life  his  practical  ends  become  more  conscious,  more 
definite;  but  the  experiences  controlled  by  these  practical 
ends  continue  to  be  the  bases  of  his  correlations  of  ideas. 
But,  while  this  is  true,  his  rapidly  multiplying  relations  and 
expanding  activities  are  compelling  him  to  deal  with  more 
and  more  complex  situations,  to  set  for  himself  more  distant 
ends  which  can  be  reached  only  by  a  longer  and  more  com- 
plicated series  of  means.  Again  and  again  he  finds  that  the 
organization  of  ideas  as  it  has  taken  shape  in  his  mind  is 
not  adequate  to  guide  him  in  these  new  and  more  difficult 
situations.  He  is  forced  by  his  mental  embarrassments,  by 
his  mistakes  and  failures,  to  revise  and  in  some  measure  to 
reconstruct  his  concepts  and  the  systems  into  which  they 
have  been  linked.  This  process  involves  reflection;  though 
at  first,  of  course,  it  is  very  partial  and  uncritical.  But  it  is 

1  See  Miller's  "  Psychology  of  Thinking,"  pp.  206-223. 


MENTAL   SYSTEMS  37 

likely  to  become  more  and  more  critical  and  extensive  as  his 
experience  broadens  and  his  activities  become  more  varied 
in  the  more  complex  relations  of  life.  The  boy  that  grows 
up  on  a  farm  soon  comes  to  have  vague  notions  of  the  sev- 
eral kinds  of  animals  and  tools  used  and  of  the  several  kinds 
of  crops  raised  on  the  farm.  He  comes  to  know  about 
horses,  cows,  pigs,  fowls;  plows,  wagons,  reapers,  buggies; 
wheat,  corn,  oats,  potatoes,  etc.  And  he  acquires  crude 
notions  of  their  relations  to  one  another,  and  of  the  rela- 
tions and  functions  of  the  farm  as  a  whole.  With  the  pass- 
ing of  the  months  his  concepts  of  these  various  objects  and 
of  their  relations  to  one  another  become  more  adequate, 
more  definite,  more  distinct,  through  actual  dealing  with 
them.  By  visits  to  the  neighbouring  town  he  becomes 
vaguely  acquainted  with  other  modes  of  life ;  and  as  he  takes 
an  increasing  share  both  in  raising  the  products  of  the  farm 
and  in  marketing  them  in  the  town  his  concept  of  the  farm 
and  its  relation  to  the  rest  of  the  world  is  enriched.  His 
childish  notions  are  undergoing  continuous  revision,  and 
becoming  larger  and  more  complex.  His  mental  system  is 
passing  through  the  double  process  of,  first,  unreflective 
organization  and,  second,  reflective  reorganization  as  the 
exigencies  of  his  broadening  experience  require;  but  it  re- 
mains as  yet  mainly  unreflective  in  character.  By  and  by 
he  is  sent  for  education  to  the  agricultural  college;  and 
there  he  studies  the  principles  of  farming  as  they  have  been 
sifted  and  formulated  by  experts  from  the  general  experi- 
ence of  men.  He  learns  the  chemical  composition  of  va- 
rious soils  and  the  adaptation  of  the  several  kinds  of  seeds 
to  the  several  kinds  of  soil,  and  the  most  approved  methods 
of  cultivation  and  the  chemical  and  biological  laws  under- 
lying these  methods.  He  sees  farming  conducted  according 
to  these  principles  and  critically  observes  the  processes.  He 
is  instructed  as  to  the  relation  of  agriculture  to  the  general 
economic  and  cultural  order  of  society.  His  system  of  ideas 
relating  to  that  general  field  of  experience  has  now  been  re- 
flectively reorganized  with  approximate  thoroughness.  He 


38  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

is  a  scientific  farmer.  But  we  need  only  consider  how 
few  farmers  —  indeed,  how  few  men  in  any  walk  of  life  — 
receive  so  thorough  a  training  in  their  occupation,  in  order 
to  realize  that  the  great  majority  of  men  have  for  the  most 
part  unreflectively  organized  systems  of  ideas  corresponding 
to  the  central  fields  of  their  experience ;  and  answering  to 
the  collateral  and  secondary  fields  of  their  experience  there 
are  systems  of  ideas  even  more  crudely  unreflective,  full  of 
gaps  and  inconsistencies,  chaotic  and  vague. 

In  a  completed  act  of  thought  Professor  Dewey  distin- 
guishes five  separate  steps :  A  felt  difficulty ;  its  location  and 
definition ;  suggestions  of  possible  solution ;  development  by 
reasoning  of  the  bearings  of  the  suggestions;  further  ob- 
servations and  experiment  leading  to  acceptance  or  rejec- 
tion.1 He  states  that  the  characteristic  which  distinguishes 
reflective  from  unreflective  thinking  is  in  the  second  step. 
In  reflective  thinking  care  is  exercised  in  the  location  and 
definition  of  the  difficulty.  The  situation  which  causes 
doubt  and  difficulty  is  carefully  scrutinized.  This  is  doubt- 
less true ;  but  in  reflection  all  the  latter  four  steps  are  more 
carefully  taken  than  in  unreflective  thought.  The  difficulty 
is  accurately  located  and  defined;  the  suggested  solution 
is  not  acted  upon  so  quickly;  alternative  suggestions  are 
sought  for  before  proceeding ;  the  development  by  reasoning 
of  these  suggested  solutions  is  more  patient  and  thorough; 
and  the  final  testing  of  the  tentative  conclusion  by  further 
observation  and  experiment  is  more  adequate.  The  general 
characteristics  of  reflection  are  self-control,  suspended  judg- 
ment, deliberate  effort  to  grasp  all  the  elements  of  the  prob- 
lem, to  consider  all  possible  solutions  and  to  accept  only 
those  which  bear  the  test  of  experience.  These  constitute 
in  their  perfection  the  ideal  scientific  attitude.  This  atti- 
tude, if  maintained,  will  fill  out  many  of  the  gaps  and  re- 
move many  of  the  latent  inconsistencies  which  are  certain 
to  inhere  in  an  unreflective  correlation  of  ideas,  and  result  in 
an  organization  of  ideas  adequate  to  the  guidance  of  action 

i "  How  We  Think,"  p.  72. 


MENTAL   SYSTEMS  39 

in  the  more  complex  and  problematical  situations  that  may 
arise. 

If  one  is  a  philosopher,  or  in  so  far  as  one  proposes  to 
himself  as  an  aim  the  correlation  of  the  systems  of  ideas 
corresponding  to  the  several  fields  of  his  experience,  he  may 
approximate  mental  unity  and  consistency  more  closely. 
He  will  construct  a  consciously  held  philosophy.  I  say 
"  consciously  held,"  because  most  men  —  perhaps  all  men  — 
do  form  a  philosophy,  i.e.,  do  come  to  have  a  more  or  less 
unified  view  of  the  "  world,"  which  means,  of  course,  the 
totality  of  experience ;  although  in  many  cases  the  man  him- 
self does  not  realize  what  his  philosophy  is.  A  philosophy 
is  the  unification  of  all  one's  knowledge  in  one  system ;  and 
even  when  pursued  as  a  conscious  end  with  great  and  long- 
continued  labour  never  attains  to  absolute  consistency. 
When  it  grows  up  not  as  an  end  sought  but  as  a  result  of 
activities  directed  to  quite  other  ends,  as  is  the  case  with 
most  men,  it  is  a  more  or  less  accidental  by-product  and  is 
"most  likely  to  be  full  of  inconsistencies,  because  in  practical 
life  the  ideas  and  systems  of  ideas  are  brought  into  con- 
sistency only  so  far  as  it  is  necessary  to  do  so  in  order  to 
attain  the  more  proximate  ends  toward  which  most  of  our 
daily  acts  are  directed.  Often  a  correlation  of  ideas  which 
is  sufficient  to  guide  action  in  simple  situations  and  to  the 
attainment  of  proximate  ends  proves  quite  insufficient  in 
more  complex  situations  and  the  attainment  of  more  distant 
ends.  A  man  may  be,  for  instance,  an  unqualified  pacifist, 
and  in  ordinary  simple  situations  may  be  able  to  see  how  the 
national  life  can  be  conducted  on  that  principle ;  but  when  a 
world-war,  such  as  has  convlused  the  whole  human  universe, 
threatens  the  very  life  of  nations  and  apparently  the  most 
precious  interests  of  humanity,  it  is  not  so  easy  to  see  how 
to  steer  the  ship  of  State  through  these  troubled  waters  by 
that  simple  principle.  A  philosophy  is  an  organization  of 
one's  experience  intended  to  serve  as  a  guide  of  action  in  the 
attainment  of  the  ultimate  and  most  general  end  of  exist- 
ence. When  consciously  undertaken  and  wrought  out  with 


4O  PSYCHOLOGY   AND  PREACHING 

great  patience  and  learning  it  may  prove  inadequate,  even 
disastrously  misleading.  How  utterly  unsafe,  then,  may 
a  philosophy  be  which  has  grown  up  as  a  mere  blind  result, 
so  to  speak,  out  of  a  narrow  range  of  petty  experiences ! 

Often  particular  correlations  of  ideas  which  are  formed  in 
an  uncritical  manner  in  some  field  of  experience  petrify,  so 
to  speak,  and,  for  one  reason  or  another,  persist  in  a  re- 
markable way,  lying  in*  the  mind  as  flinty  formations  which 
resist  the  reflective,  rationalizing  process.  Some  popular 
beliefs  of  a  quasi-superstitious  character  are  of  this  sort, 
and  probably  have  their  origin  in  hasty,  unreflective  think- 
ing. For  instance,  the  notion  that  when  the  visible  Moon 
has  a  certain  shape  it  indicates  rain  or  dry  weather;  that 
potatoes  should  be  planted  during  a  certain  phase  of  the 
moon's  changes;  that  the  number  13  is  unlucky:  or  that  an 
enterprise  begun  on  Friday  will  turn  out  badly, —  all  such 
notions  are  probably  crude  and  hasty  generalizations  of  ex- 
perience. Perhaps  some  coincidence,  occurring  under  strik- 
ing circumstances,  was  observed  and  related  by  some  person- 
age of  importance ;  was  spread  by  suggestion  among  an  un- 
critical populace;  became  itself  a  selective  influence  direct- 
ing attention  to  its  accidental  recurrences,  while  its  failures 
to  recur  passed  without  notice;  was  handed  down  to  suc- 
ceeding generations,  as  a  traditional  saying  supposed  to 
have  its  basis  in  generations  of  cumulative  experience;  and 
thus  came  to  have  a  great  prestige  with  uncritical  minds, 
clinging  even  to  many  minds  accustomed  in  some  measure  to 
the  practice  of  critical  reflection.  The  persistence  of  these 
beliefs  even  in  circles  of  average  culture  is  a  striking  in- 
dication of  the  fact  that  the  mental  systems  of  most  men 
are  very  largely  of  the  unreflective  type. 

Individual  personal  prejudices  also  result  from  the  hard- 
ening of  hasty  and  unreflective  judgments,  when  they  be- 
come associated  with  deep  feelings.  For  instance,  one 
"  gets  an  impression  "  of  some  person  as  a  result  of  casual 
acquaintance.  It  may  be  wrong ;  but  becoming  linked  up  at 
once  with  a  feeling  of  aversion  or  attraction,  it  persists  as 


MENTAL   SYSTEMS  4! 

a  prejudice.  In  subsequent  experience  with  that  person  it 
puts  one  in  an  attitude  of  antagonism  or  friendliness  which 
inevitably  evokes  such  responses  as  will  justify  the  original 
judgment;  and  so  it  persists  through  life,  perhaps,  resisting 
the  rational  process  of  reflection.  Such  prejudices  may,  of 
course,  grow  up  in  any  of  one's  relations  and  in  any  field  of 
experience. 

Sometimes  they  partake  both  of  the  nature  of  non-ra- 
tional popular  belief  and  of  personal  prejudice.  Of  this  type 
often  are  the  attitudes  of  great  national  groups  toward 
one  another.  As  an  outgrowth  both  of  unreflective  per- 
sonal experience  and  of  social  suggestion,  national  groups 
may  come  to  have  notions  of  one  another  which  a  critical 
examination  would  show  to  be  gross  caricatures,  but  which 
unconsciously  colour  the  personal  experiences  with  one  an- 
other of  the  individuals  of  the  groups.  Deep  feelings  of 
aversion  or  attraction  become  involved;  and  the  national 
prejudices  so  engendered  resist  all  the  efforts  of  rational 
criticism  to  dissolve  them.  In  conjunction  with  other 
causes  they  are  often  responsible  for  the  frightful  tragedy 
of  war.  This  is  a  matter  for  earnest  thought  in  this  age  of 
the  world  when  international  relations  constitute  so  great 
and  pressing  a  problem. 

Surely  a  thoroughly  rational  ordering  of  human  conduct, 
attained  by  the  critical  control  of  all  the  processes  of 
thought,  is  much  to  be  desired;  but  is  a  rare  achievement 
indeed.  In  fact,  it  is  never  achieved.  Some  non-rational 
popular  beliefs,  some  individual  and  group  prejudices  may 
be  found  even  in  the  most  enlightened  intelligences ;  and  are, 
of  course,  much  more  numerous  in  minds  less  accustomed 
to  critical  reflection.  Indeed,  in  such  minds  it  is  not  uncom- 
mon to  see  such  a  petrifaction  of  the  main  parts  of  the 
mental  system ;  and  then  we  have  "  the  closed  mind,"  a 
phenomenon  discussed  elsewhere.1 

i  See  Chap.  VIII. 


42  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 


II.      MEANING 

The  meaning  of  a  sensation  or  a  mental  image  is  its 
reference  to  other  parts  of  our  experience.  As  isolated,  a 
thing  means  nothing.  To  give  it  significance,  it  must  be 
taken  from  its  isolation  and  connected  up  with  other  things 
in  consciousness.  Pillsbury  1  has  maintained,  and  justly, 
that  a  thing  cannot  get  into  consciousness  except  as  it  is 
judged,  or  given  meaning,  related  to  other  parts  of  one's 
experience.  Many  things  come  into  consciousness  as 
strange,  singular,  anomalous.  Do  not  these  things  get  into 
consciousness  without  being  received  into  the  mental  sys- 
tem, without  acquiring  meaning?  No.  For  when  anything 
is  pronounced  "  strange/'  "  anomalous,"  it  is  thereby  judged 
—  it  is  a  strange  thing.  Now  "  thing  "  is  one  category  of 
meaning  and  "  strange "  is  another.  The  thing  gets  into 
the  vestibule  of  the  mental  system,  so  to  speak,  but  its  prob- 
lematical character  is,  to  the  mind  which  is  not  atrophied, 
a  constant  irritant,  inciting  the  effort  to  incorporate  it  more 
thoroughly  into  the  system.  As  an  example,  I  recall  my 
experience  at  the  time  of  the  Charleston  earthquake,  in 
1888.  I  was  sitting  in  my  chamber  in  Nashville,  Tenn., 
reading  aloud  to  my  wife.  We  felt  a  shock,  apparently  a 
sudden  upward  push  of  the  house,  repeated  two  or  three 
times.  The  reading  stopped  and  we  enquired  simul- 
taneously, "  What  was  that  ?  "  The  occurrence  came  into 
our  consciousness  as  a  shock,  an  upward  push  of  the  house, 
and  as  such  was  associated  with  other  of  our  experiences, 
i.e.,  was  given  meaning.  But  as  a  shock  there  was  some- 
thing strange  and  disconcerting  about  it.  In  a  moment  we 
exclaimed,  "  That  felt  like  an  earthquake."  Here  was  a 
tentative  association  of  it  with  another  definite  circle  of 
experiences.  The  next  morning  the  dispatches  confirmed 
our  inference.  The  incident  was  now  more  fully  under- 
stood; it  had  acquired  more  definite  and  certain  meaning, 
was  taken  up  into  a  larger  circle  of  experiences.  And  yet 

1 "  Psychology  of  Reasoning,"  p.  104,  ff. 


MENTAL   SYSTEMS  43 

it  was  far  from  being  wholly  understood,  though  its  mean- 
ing was  much  more  complete  than  when  we  recognized  it 
only  as  a  peculiar  kind  of  shock.  The  large  question  re- 
mained, What  is  an  earthquake?  A  vibration  of  a  portion 
of  the  earth's  surface.  So  far,  so  good;  the  meaning  has 
grown.  The  rude  shock  is  definitely  related  to  a  large  body 
of  experiences.  But  what  causes  the  earth  to  quake  ?  The 
answer  to  this  question  expands  the  meaning  by  relating  the 
event  to  another  large  circle  of  knowledge.  And  in  the  last 
analysis,  the  limits  of  the  possible  meaning  of  that  shock 
are  not  reached  until  it  is  definitely  located  in  the  totality  of 
cosmic  phenomena.  Manifestly,  then,  the  organization  of 
one's  mental  system  is  the  process  by  which  all  the  mental 
elements  acquire  meaning.  And  the  total  possible  meaning 
of  any  sensation  or  image  is  the  perception  of  all  those 
relations  with  other  experiences  which  in  any  possible  way 
might  influence  one's  action  or  attitude.  Not  only  does 
each  experience  added  to  a  mental  system  receive  additional 
meaning  according  to  the  extent  and  content  of  the  system, 
but  it  also  contributes  its  increment  of  meaning  to  every 
other  fact  with  which  it  thus  becomes  related.  Is  not  the 
ideal  of  mental  development  the  organization  of  a  system  of 
knowledge  which  correlates  each  fact  with  the  whole  uni- 
verse of  possible  experiences,  so  that  each  item  becomes  a 
bearer  of  the  meaning  of  the  whole? 

Flower  in  the  crannied  wall, 
I  pluck  you  out  of  the  crannies ;  — 
Hold  you  here,  root  and  all,  in  my  hand, 
Little  flower  —  but  if  I  could  understand 
What  you  are,  root  and  all,  and  all  in  all, 
I  should  know  what  God  and  man  is. 

i.  Primary  or  functional  meaning.  In  the  earlier  stages 
of  mental  organization  the  meaning  of  a  thing  is  quite  ob- 
viously its  use  or  function.  The  use  meaning  of  a  thing 
enables  one  easily  to  identify  it  among  other  things  and  to 
know  how  to  adjust  oneself  to  it  in  ordinary  situations. 


44  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

To  the  child  a  ball  is  a  thing  that  rolls,  a  round  thing.  How 
does  it  come  to  attach  that  meaning  to  that  object?  By  the 
actual  exercise  of  rolling  the  ball.  A  knife  means  some- 
thing to  cut  with,  a  meaning  which  is  developed  by  the 
use  of  the  knife;  and  for  a  time  that  meaning  suffices  to 
identify  that  object  and  to  indicate  one's  proper  adjustment 
to  it.  After  a  while  the  child  becomes  acquainted  with  other 
objects  which  are  used'  for  cutting,  but  in  a  different  way. 
Then  it  begins  to  make  more  definite  its  meaning  for 
knife;  the  particular  use  of  the  knife  and  the  corre- 
sponding form  of  it  enter  into  the  meaning.  The  ob- 
ject and  its  function  come  to  be  more  definitely  distin- 
guished from  other  objects  and  their  functions  as  its  mean- 
ing expands. 

It  is  apparent  that  the  use  meanings  are  built  up  in  unre- 
flective  experience.  By  the  phrase,  "  unreflective  -expe- 
rience," is  meant  experience  in  which  the  attention  is 
directed  to  the  realization  of  some  proximate  practical  end, 
and  not  to  the  systematic  correlation  of  ideas  with  more  or 
less  conscious  reference  to  some  far-off  end.  The  use  mean- 
ings thus  grow  up  as  a  sort  of  by-product  of  practical 
experience,  and  consist  of  the  revived  sensations  of  move- 
ment or  strain  which  accompany  actual  adjustments.  An 
examination  of  definitions  formulated  by  children  shows 
clearly  that  in  the  beginning  one's  system  of  meanings  is 
built  up  and  used  in  this  way ;  and  if  any  adult  will  examine 
his  own  mental  equipment  he  will  be  surprised  to  discover 
how  much  of  it  remains  of  this  character  to  the  end.  Let 
one  consider  the  vast  number  of  objects  of  which  he  has  a 
sufficiently  definite  notion  to  guide  him  in  every-day  dealing 
with  them,  but  of  which  he  would  find  it  quite  impossible 
to  give  off-hand  a  clear-cut,  systematic  or  scientifically  ac- 
curate definition,  and  he  will  realize  that  by  far  the  greater 
number  of  objects  which  have  entered  into  his  expe- 
rience have  for  him  only  a  functional  meaning.  Sup- 
pose you  were  called  on  to  give  at  once  a  definition  of 
"  chair "  which  would  be  logically  complete  and  exact 


MENTAL   SYSTEMS  45 

Even  if  you  were  a  philosopher  you  would  probably  fail. 
You  would  probably  have  to  fall  back  upon  the  use  meaning 
-  it  is  something  to  sit  on.  In  this  respect,  if  in  no  other, 
we  all  retain  our  childhood  to  the  end  of  our  days. 

2.  Secondary  or  theoretical  meaning  and  its  relation  to 
the  functional.  As  the  mental  system  is  reflectively  reor- 
ganized each  unit  of  experience  is  brought  into  more  con- 
scious and  definite  relations  with  others,  and  with  more  ex- 
tensive sections  of  the  system.  Its  meaning  thus  becomes  at 
once  more  explicit  and  more  complex,  while  the  reference  to 
its  function  becomes  more  remote.  Usually  the  theoretical 
definition  of  an  object  makes  no  immediate  reference  to  its 
ordinary  use,  but  gives  it  a  definite  location  in  a  wide  circle 
of  concepts  and  seeks  particularly  to  fix  it  in  a  genetic 
series,  to  define  it  in  terms  of  the  facts  which  conditioned 
its  appearance.  The  movement  is  from  concrete,  practical, 
meaning  to  abstract,  theoretical  meaning.  But  in  theo- 
retical meaning  there  is  an  implicit  reference  to  use  or  func- 
tion. In  the  last  analysis  all  knowledge,  though  it  may  be 
sought  by  some  minds  for  its  own  sake,  has  as  its  function 
the  guidance  of  conduct,  in  the  broad  sense  of  the  word.  It 
is  the  equipment  of  a  man  for  proper  adjustment  to  his  total 
environment.  The  primary  use  meanings  of  an  object 
guide  one's  adjustment  to  it  in  simple  and  ordinary  sit- 
uations and  furnish  a  sufficient  basis  for  rules  of  action; 
but  there  are  exceptions  to  all  rules.  The  theoretical,  or 
scientific,  meanings,  seeing  things  in  their  relation  to  the 
whole  range  of  experience  as  treasured  up  in  one's  system 
of  concepts,  guide  adjustment  in  varying  and  exceptional 
situations,  and  give  a  basis  for  universal  principles  of  action 
to  which  there  are  no  exceptions. 

But  neither  type  of  meaning  is  sufficient  apart  from  the 
other.  The  simple  use  meanings  need  to  be  enlarged  and 
corrected  by  the  scientific  in  order  that  all  essential  elements 
which  are  not  obvious  may  be  included,  and  in  order  that 
they  may  be  purged  of  all  unessential  elements,  which  might 
in  unusual  circumstances  lead  astray;  and  the  scientific 


46  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

need  to  be  subjected  to  the  test  of  practice  in  order  that  they 
may  be  "  realized/'  or  be  adequately  grasped,  and  that  they 
may  be  kept  free  from  useless  and  misleading  elements.  A 
theoretical  meaning  becomes  much  more  real  to  one  when 
he  becomes  vividly  conscious  how  it  determines  or  modifies 
action.  The  idea  must  be  interpreted  in  terms  of  the  kin- 
aesthetic  sensations  in  order  that  one  may  get  a  lively  sense 
of  its  meaning.  And  when  the  meaning  of  the  concept  is 
thus  reduced  to  its  lowest  terms  it  is  not  only  more  vividly 
realized,  but  its  adequacy  or  inadequacy,  its  truth  or  false- 
ness, is  more  readily  perceived.  Thus  the  theoretical  mean- 
ings must  be  tested  by  being  reduced  to  the  functional  mean- 
ings. They  are  not  scientific,  nor  are  they  established  as 
meanings,  until  confirmed  by  practical  application.  The 
practical  application  should  be  by  experiment,  when  that 
is  possible,  as  it  usually  is  in  the  physical  sciences,  and  to  a 
certain  extent  in  psychology;  or  by  repeated  recurrence 
under  various  and  widely  different  circumstances,  as  in  the 
social  sciences. 

The  "  practical "  man  is  one  who  puts  great  emphasis 
upon  the  use  meanings,  and  usually  speaks  with  contempt 
of  theory.  The  "  theoretical "  man  is  one  who  places  the 
emphasis  upon  the  abstract  meanings  and  is  mainly  inter- 
ested in  knowledge  as  an  end.  He  finds  his  satisfaction  in 
the  systematic  correlation  of  ideas,  with  secondary,  if  any, 
reference  to  their  practical  applications.  Both  attitudes  are 
partial  and  lead  to  unsatisfactory  results.  The  practical 
man  who  wholly  discards  theory  will  be  short-sighted  and 
narrow,  "  bumptious  "  and  full  of  prejudices,  and  in  un- 
familiar circumstances  is  liable  to  gross  error;  the 
theoretical  man,  neglecting  practical  applications,  will  be 
fanciful  and  fall  into  many  absurdities,  because  his  think- 
ing lacks  the  correction  of  facts.  The  two  attitudes  com- 
bined will  yield  both  "  common  sense "  and  breadth  of 
vision ;  will  enable  one  to  keep  his  feet  planted  firmly  upon 
the  solid  earth  of  reality  and  yet  see,  beyond  the  details 


MENTAL   SYSTEMS  47 

of  the  present  and  the  near,  the  far-off  relations  of  his  action 
in  time  and  space. 

III.      DIFFERENTIATION   OF   MENTAL  SYSTEMS 

Before  proceeding  to  indicate  the  practical  applications 
of  these  principles  which  have  been  rather  abstractly  set 
forth,  another  truth  of  great  importance  should  be  taken 
into  consideration.  It  is  a  fact  of  capital  significance  that 
as  social  development  proceeds  the  mental  systems  of  men, 
whether  considered  as  individuals  or  as  groups,  undergo 
a  progressive  differentiation. 

I.  Differentiating  influences.  The  first  of  these  we  men- 
tion is  the  occupation.  Obviously  the  occupation  is  of  great 
significance  in  the  development  of  the  mental  life.  Usually 
it  is  the  tie  which  more  than  any  other  gives  unity  to  the 
ideas  built  up  in  several  contiguous  fields  of  experience. 
Says  Professor  Dewey :  "  Adults  normally  carry  on  some 
occupation,  profession,  pursuit;  and  this  occupation  fur- 
nishes the  continuous  axis  about  which  their  knowledge, 
their  beliefs  and  their  habits  of  reaching  conclusions  are 
organized."  *  Certainly  for  the  average  man  the  system  of 
ideas  built  up  in  the  general  field  of  experience  compre- 
hended in  his  occupation  will  form  throughout  life  the  core 
of  his  mental  organization.  What  is  meant  by  "  occupa- 
tion "  is  that  series  of  activities,  whether  economic, 
political,  religious,  or  scientific,  which  chiefly  engages  one's 
attention  and  energy.  Sometimes,  in  fact,  a  man's  nominal 
occupation  is  really  his  avocation,  and  vice  versa.  Nom- 
inally William  Carey  was  a  shoe-maker,  but  his  real  occu- 
pation was  not  making  shoes;  it  was  the  propagation  of 
Christianity  in  heathen  lands.  Paul's  occupation  was  not 
tent-making,  though  that  was  his  method  of  earning  his 
living.  The  major  part  of  his  time  and  energy  was  given  to 
preaching  to  the  Gentiles.  Edmund  Clarence  Stedman's  oc- 
cupation was  really  that  of  a  literary  critic,  though  he  would 

*"How  We  Think,"  p.  41. 


48  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

probably  be  classified  in  a  directory  of  occupations  as  a 
banker  or  financier.  And  it  is,  of  course,  the  real  occupation 
which  is  so  dominant  in  the  formation  of  a  man's  mental 
system.  In  fields  of  experience  not  immediately  involved  in 
this  he  may  form  systems  of  ideas  which  are  only  loosely 
related  to  his  central  system ;  and  in  fields  still  more  distant 
he  may  build  up  systems  which  are  never  brought  into  any 
perceptible  correlation  with  the  one  organized  in  the  occupa- 
tion. But  in  so  far  as  he  attains  to  mental  unification  — 
and,  of  course,  he  must  have  some  degree  of  mental  unity  — 
it  will  in  the  main  come  through  the  assimilation  of  all  his 
other  systems  of  ideas  to  this  dominant  one ;  and  doubtless 
this  dominant  one  will,  in  any  case,  act  as  a  sort  of  subcon- 
scious control,  determining  more  or  less  completely  both  the 
content  and  the  form  of  the  systems  built  up  in  remote  fields, 
although  both  within  the  dominant  system  and  between  it 
and  the  subordinate  ones  many  inconsistencies  are  likely 
to  remain. 

Of  course,  the  ideas  originating  in  the  subordinate  or  col- 
lateral fields  react  upon  the  central  system  and  modify  to 
some  extent  the  view  of  life  and  mode  of  thought  which 
are  the  resultant  of  one's  chief  activities;  and  some  rare 
men,  perhaps,  are  so  broad  in  their  sympathies  and  so  many 
sided  and  versatile  in  their  intellectual  life  that  their  mental 
development  can  not  be  determined  by  the  narrow  limits  of 
a  specialized  occupation.  But  ordinarily  people  engaged  in 
the  various  forms  of  "  practical  work  "  and  in  the  so-called 
11  professions  "  do  not  rise  far  above  these  limits ;  and  those 
who  devote  themselves  to  scientific  pursuits  usually  find 
themselves  inevitably  limited  to  fractional  departments  of 
any  great  realm  of  science,  and  these  constitute  the  axes 
around  which  their  mental  systems  are  organized. 

In  connection  with  the  dominant  influence  of  the  occupa- 
tion we  must  consider  the  fact  that  our  modern  life  is  char- 
acterized by  a  minute  and  constantly  increasing  division  of 
labour.  The  differentiation  of  occupations  has  gone  on  until 
it  has  become  a  fact  of  most  striking  significance;  and  the 


MENTAL  SYSTEMS  49 

process  is  not  only  not  checked  but  is  proceeding  at  an  ac- 
celerating rate.  It  seems  to  be  due  to  the  operation  of 
fundamental  laws  of  being ;  and,  while  it  is  true  that  the  ap- 
pearance of  new  forms  of  activity  sometimes  leads  to  the 
discontinuance  of  old  forms,  each  new  form,  after  it  appears, 
leads  most  likely  to  the  introduction  of  several  others. 
Thus  the  total  number  of  differentiated  forms  of  activity  is 
constantly  on  the  increase.  All  men  are  becoming  special- 
ized. A  glance  backward  to  earlier  social  conditions  is 
sufficient  to  confirm  the  statement  that  this  specialization 
is  a  rapidly  increasing  process.  If  we  recall  how  in  early 
society,  before  the  beginning  of  the  exchange  of  goods  be- 
tween groups,  all  the  customary  forms  of  activity  were 
carried  on  within  one  small  circle,  without  any  clear  division 
of  labour  except  between  the  sexes ;  if  we  further  consider 
how,  with  the  expansion  of  the  groups  and  the  establishment 
of  relations  between  neighbouring  groups,  the  differentia- 
tion of  occupations  within  each  group  proceeded ;  and  if  we 
follow  this  process  until  it  issues  in  the  almost  infinite  maze 
of  differentiated  activity  of  our  present-day  life,  we  shall 
perceive  that  we  are  now  stationed  where  the  past  develop- 
ment, like  a  broadening  Amazon,  expands  into  an  era  of  com- 
plicated specialization  of  truly  oceanic  proportions.  There 
are  some  seventeen  thousand  different  occupational  desig- 
nations in  current  use,  though  many  of  them  indicate  forms 
of  activity  so  nearly  alike  that  our  Census  Bureau  finds  that 
there  are  only  about  ten  thousand  which  are  of  service  in 
its  enumeration.  By  far  the  greater  number  of  these  are  of 
comparatively  recent  origin.  Who  can  tell  to  what  extent 
this  process  of  specialization  is  to  go,  or  how  profoundly 
it  is  to  modify  the  mental  development  of  the  people  ? 

But  the  differentiation  of  occupations,  though  very  im- 
portant, is  by  no  means  the  only  influence  at  work  produc- 
ing variations  and  divergences  among  the  mental  systems  of 
men.  Native  organic  differences  are  also  important  causes 
of  these  divergences.  Human  beings  do  not  inherit  a  com- 
pletely and  rigidly  organized  nervous  constitution,  but  each 


50  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

is  born  with  certain  peculiar  predispositions  fixed  in  his 
nervous  system,  and  these  exert  a  very  great  influence  upon 
the  formation  of  his  mental  system.  One's  inborn  tend- 
encies may  render  him  reactionary,  radical  or  conservative 
in  disposition ;  they  may  give  him  a  penchant  for  some  form 
of  art,  or  for  some  special  role  in  politics,  or  for  some  par- 
ticular science,  or  for  a  specific  line  of  business,  or  for  some 
other  form  of  specialized  activity.  In  this  way  they  may 
have  a  determining  influence  in  the  selection  of  his  occupa- 
tion, though,  for  various  reasons,  the  form  of  activity  for 
which  he  has  this  special  turn  of  mind  may  not  be  the 
one  in  which  he  actually  engages.  Men  often  drift  into 
occupations  for  which  they  are  not  naturally  adapted.  In 
any  case,  these  individual  organic  tendencies  control  largely 
the  direction  of  a  man's  attention  and  give  greater  weight 
in  his  mind  to  certain  facts  and  considerations  than  to 
others,  and  thus  influence  profoundly  the  constitution  of 
his  mental  system.  So  it  happens  that  different  men  build 
up  within  the  same  general  field  of  occupational  experience 
systems  of  ideas  dissimilar  in  important  respects. 

Nor  should  it  be  forgotten  that,  quite  apart  from  the 
influence  of  occupations  and  of  native  differences,  the  intel- 
lectual environment  in  which  one  grows  up  or  lives  for  a 
long  time  is  an  important  factor  in  moulding  his  mind.  It 
needs  but  a  glance  over  any  extensive  social  group  to  see 
that  it  tends  to  break  up  into  an  increasing  number  of  such 
intellectual  environments,  each  resulting  from  the  peculiar 
synthesis  of  sociological  conditions  prevailing  in  some  par- 
ticular part  of  the  country,  or  in  some  stratum  or  section  of 
the  society.  From  some  special  environment  each  man  in- 
evitably receives  influences  which  have  much  to  do  in  deter- 
mining his  processes  of  thought  and  his  mental  organization. 
If  his  innate  tendencies  are  not  strongly  divergent  and  the 
mode  of  thought  developed  by  his  occupation  does  not  pre- 
vent, he  simply  conforms,  assumes  the  mental  attitude  which 
is  general  in  his  locality,  or  in  his  class,  or  in  his  group  of 
friends,  or  in  the  literature  which  he  reads.  If  his  innate 


MENTAL   SYSTEMS  5 1 

tendencies  are  strongly  divergent  he  will  react  against  the 
influences  of  his  environment.  But  whether  his  attitude  be 
one  of  conformity  or  of  resistance,  that  environment  will 
be  equally  powerful  in  the  formation  of  his  mental  system. 
The  radical  who  lives  in  an  atmosphere  of  proscription  will 
develop  an  intellectual  life  very  different  from  that  which 
he  would  in  an  atmosphere  of  freedom.  Indeed,  a  man  who 
is  a  radical  in  one  intellectual  atmosphere  might  quite  con- 
ceivably have  been  a  conservative  had  he  dwelt  in  another, 
and  vice  versa.  An  environment  is  equally  powerful  in  its 
influence  upon  the  conformist  and  the  non-conformist.  It 
may  assimilate  or  it  may  alienate,  but  it  can  not  be  ignored. 
Now,  as  these  several  processes  of  differentiation  go  on, 
each  crossing  and  modifying  the  other,  the  mental  systems 
of  men  necessarily  become  more  and  more  highly  differen- 
tiated; men  become  more  variant  and  widely  sundered  in 
their  intellectual  interests  and  modes  of  thought.  It  is 
sometimes  said  that  there  is  an  even  stronger  counter  tend- 
ency. It  is  declared  that  the  development  of  intercom- 
munication in  various  ways  —  the  increase  of  travel,  the 
publication  of  knowledge  of  every  sort,  the  reading  habit, 
etc. —  swells  enormously  the  fund  of  common  ideas,  and 
tends  towards  the  establishment  of  common  standards  and 
points  of  view.  Then  there  is  the  practice  of  using  over 
wide  areas  the  same  text-books  in  the  public  schools.  The 
stronger  movement,  therefore,  is  sometimes  declared  to 
be  in  the  direction  of  a  dead  level  of  mental  uniformity. 
But  this  is  a  superficial  view.  It  is  true  that  the  tendency  is 
for  all  knowledge  to  be  made  available  for  every  man ;  that 
the  views  of  every  man  are  coming  more  and  more  to  be  ac- 
cessible to  all  men.  And  we  may,  if  we  choose,  imagine  this 
to  go  on  until  the  theoretical  limit  is  reached,  and  all  that 
every  man  thinks  is  placed  at  the  disposal  of  all  men. 
What  of  it?  Would  it  reduce  the  mental  life  of  men  to  a 
dead  uniformity  ?  It  would  have  rather  the  opposite  effect. 
No  individual  can  appropriate  all  ideas.  He  simply  has  an 
ever-enlarging  fund  of  other  men's  ideas  to  draw  upon  in 


52  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

organizing  his  own  mental  system,  which  will  be  formed 
under  the  control  of  the  individualizing  influences  just  dis- 
cussed. The  system  of  ideas  growing  up  as  a  result  of  the 
differentiating  influences  at  work  upon  him  operates  as  a 
selecting  principle,  determining  what  ideas  out  of  the  gen- 
eral fund  available  for  him  he  will  actually  appropriate,  and 
also  the  particular  relations  in  which  he  will  organize  them 
in  his  own  mind ;  and  the  availability  of  an  increasing  store 
of  other  men's  thoughts  simply  multiplies  the  number  of 
individual  permutations  possible  and  also  the  possible  range 
of  variation  of  these  individual  combinations.  One  could 
arrange  a  thousand  bricks  into  many  structural  forms  which 
would  be  very  unlike  one  another ;  but  a  million  bricks  are 
capable  of  a  far  greater  number  of  structural  combinations 
each  of  which  would  be  still  more  unique.  So  with  the 
units  of  the  mental  life.  Of  course,  there  is  much  that  is 
common  in  the  experiences  of  men  and,  therefore,  much 
that  is  common  to  their  intellectual  systems ;  but  this  com- 
mon factor,  while  it  may  grow  absolutely  larger,  must  grow 
relatively  smaller  in  the  continuous  development  of  social 
life. 

2.  The  effect  of  the  differentiation  upon  meaning.  We 
have  seen  that  the  total  meaning  of  a  mental  image  is  deter- 
mined by  its  particular  setting  in  the  total  system.  The 
group  of  images  with  which  it  is  immediately  connected 
give  its  specific  meaning;  but  the  entire  system  constitutes 
the  background  of  its  significance.  The  whole  system  gives 
to  each  image  a  certain  perspective  through  which  it  is 
viewed.  It  thus  bears,  in  addition  to  its  specific  content  of 
meaning,  a  certain  atmosphere  of  meaning  imparted  to  it  by 
its  general  relations  in  the  whole  body  of  one's  thought. 
These  general  relations  may  not  come  into  the  focus  of  con- 
sciousness but  only  into  the  fringe,  but  are  nevertheless  im- 
portant elements  of  meaning. 

It  is  apparent,  then,  that  to  persons  whose  mental  systems 
are  differently  constituted  the  same  image  must  have  a 
somewhat  different  meaning.  In  so  far  as  the  systems 


MENTAL   SYSTEMS  53 

approximate  each  other  will  the  meanings  be  similar;  in  so 
far  as  they  diverge  will  the  meanings  be  different.  The 
same  is  true  of  the  same  person  at  different  stages  of  his 
development.  Think  what  the  sun  means  to  a  child  of  three 
or  four  summers  and  what  it  means  to  the  same  person 
after  he  has  become  a  scientific  astronomer.  In  the  first 
case  the  sun  is  just  a  great  luminous  body  in  the  sky;  in 
the  latter  case  he  thinks  of  the  sun  in  terms  of  the  immeas- 
urable spaces  and  magnitudes  of  the  heavens  and  the 
unnumbered  aeons  of  cosmic  development.  The  difference 
in  the  meaning  of  the  same  object  to  the  same  person  at 
different  stages  of  development  indicates  what  great  differ- 
ences of  meanings  may  attach  to  the  same  objects  in  the 
minds  of  men  who  stand  on  different  levels  of  culture.  To 
convey  a  meaning  from  one  mind  to  another  absolutely 
without  modification  is  impossible.  The  possibility  of  doing 
so  would  imply  identical  mental  systems  in  the  two  minds, 
which  is  out  of  the  question.  A  statement  made  to  a  group 
of  persons  will  receive  a  somewhat  different  interpretation 
in  each  mind.  This  is  true  even  of  a  mathematical  formula, 
which  is  the  nearest  possible  approach  to  the  fixation  of  a 
meaning  in  a  pattern  invariable  for  all  minds.  Certainly  in 
this  extreme  case  there  is  a  very  different  atmosphere  of 
meaning  for  different  persons.  Would  not  the  same  mathe- 
matical formula  arouse  a  very  different  set  of  associations, 
remote  references  and  suggestions,  a  different  atmosphere  of 
meaning,  in  the  mind  of  the  average  school  boy  from  what 
it  would  in  the  mind  of  Pierre  Simon  La  Place?  In  the 
case  of  a  formula  of  physical  science  the  difference  would 
probably  be  greater,  because  the  subject  matter  of  physical 
science  does  not  lend  itself  to  exact  definitions,  can  not  be 
cut  into  invariable  patterns,  like  the  subject  matter  of 
mathematics.  In  the  use  of  a  theological  formula  the  diver- 
gence of  meanings  is  still  greater.  It  seems  to  be  inevitable 
that  men  who  subscribe  to  the  same  theological  formulas 
should  fill  them  with  more  or  less  different  meanings,  each 
interpreting  the  formulas  through  the  medium  of  his  own 


54  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

intellectual  system.  We  are  not  referring  to  the  fact  that 
men  sometimes  dishonestly  subscribe  to  creeds  which  they 
do  not  believe,  but  to  the  psychological  necessity  men  are 
under  of  attaching  to  the  terms  of  formulas  which  they 
honestly  accept  meanings  which  are  determined  by  their  own 
systems  of  ideas.  It  is  interesting,  for  instance,  to  consider 
what  different  meanings  may  be  borne  by  the  word  "  God  " 
in  the  minds  of  people  who  are  of  different  grades  of  cul- 
ture or  whose  minds  have  been  formed  in  different  environ- 
ments. In  the  mind  of  a  person  bred  in  a  gentle  and  cul- 
tured Christian  home,  it  has  one  meaning ;  in  the  mind  of  a 
savage,  quite  another.  In  the  mind  of  an  ignorant  rustic 
it  calls  up  one  set  of  associations ;  in  the  mind  of  the  phil- 
osopher Spinoza  it  had  quite  another.  Contrast  the  mean- 
ing which  it  conveys  to  the  mind  of  a  Wall  Street  broker 
with  that  which  it  conveyed  to  Francis,  the  saint,  or  to 
Swedenborg,  the  mystic,  or  to  Herbert  Spencer,  the  agnos- 
tic. And  when  particular  theological  terms,  which  connote 
such  great  varieties  of  meaning  in  different  minds,  are  com- 
bined into  a  lengthy  formula,  it  is  inevitable  that  this  will 
stand  for  a  widely  different  content  of  meaning  in  each 
mind.  The  practical  significance  of  this  fact  grows  when 
it  is  remembered  that,  by  reason  of  the  continual  differen- 
tiation of  occupations  and  other  influences  tending  in  the 
same  direction,  the  mental  systems  of  men  are  becoming 
more  and  more  varied  and  divergent. 

The  divergence  of  meanings  increases  as  the  mental  sys- 
tems become  more  critically  organized.  When  the  emphasis 
is  put  upon  the  uses  or  functions  of  things  men's  ideas  of 
those  things  approximate  more  closely,  and  this  is  the  more 
true  as  those  uses  or  functions  concern  us  in  more  common 
ways  and  in  the  more  simple  and  ordinary  situations.  For 
instance,  three  persons  are  looking  at  a  locomotive  engine. 
One  of  them  is  a  little  child;  to  it  the  engine  is  just  a  big 
thing  with  big  wheels,  which  puffs  out  smoke  and  pulls  the 
train.  Another  is  the  engineer;  to  him  it  is  a  complicated 
piece  of  machinery,  which  he  more  or  less  adequately  under- 


MENTAL   SYSTEMS  55 

stands,  and  is  used  for  pulling  the  train.  A  third  is  a  pro- 
fessor of  economics ;  to  him  also  it  is  a  complicated  organiza- 
tion of  parts  and  functions  (dimly  understood  for  the  most 
part),  the  invention  of  which  occurred  at  a  particular  point 
in  economic  history  and  which  has  performed  a  most  im- 
portant function  in  the  economic  development  of  society. 
The  latter  associations  may  be  in  the  focus  of  his  attention, 
or  only  in  the  fringe,  and  so  may  constitute  only  a  surround- 
ing nebula  of  meaning.  In  either  case  they  distinguish  the 
meaning  in  his  mind  from  that  in  the  others.  But  to  him 
also  the  engine  is  something  that  pulls  the  train.  In  this 
last  point  all  the  meanings,  so  divergent  in  other  respects, 
agree,  because  that  is  the  one  aspect  of  the  engine  which  is 
most  obvious  and  most  manifestly  affects  the  daily  lives  of 
men.  We  may  say,  then,  that  the  use  meanings  of  things 
are  like  threads  that  run  through  variant  mental  systems, 
giving  them  unity;  and  when  these  use  meanings  are  of  an 
obvious,  every-day  character,  the  larger  is  the  number  of 
mental  systems  which  they  unite  and  the  more  closely  the 
systems  are  united.  On  the  other  hand,  those  meanings 
which  are  constituted  in  the  effort  to  systematize  one's 
knowledge  reflectively  will  become  more  and  more  unlike  in 
different  minds  the  more  general,  abstract,  theoretical  they 
become. 

This  divergence  of  mental  systems  in  their  theoretical 
meanings  is  to  a  limited  extent  overcome  by  the  precision 
given  to  technical  terms.  A  technical  term  is  a  coin  of  the 
realm  which  passes  at  its  face  value  among  all  the  in- 
habitants. It  is  supposed  to  mean  the  same  thing  in  every 
mind;  and  it  approximates  this  generality  of  meaning  as 
nearly  as  is  possible.  But  in  every  mind  these  terms  of 
fixed  meaning  are  organized  into  larger  bodies  of  ideas,  and, 
in  these  larger  correlations  of  thought,  acquire  quite  different 
atmospheres  of  meaning.  When,  therefore,  the  effort  is 
made  by  means  of  carefully  framed  definitions  to  reduce  a 
number  of  minds  to  a  common  denominator  in  their  thought 
upon  some  subject,  only  partial  success  can  be  expected. 


56  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

For  instance,  two  men  use  the  term  "  evolution  "  with  quite 
the  same  technical  significance ;  but  one  of  them  may  be  in 
his  philosophy  a  Christian  theist  and  the  other  a  materialistic 
atheist,  and  by  reason  of  this  different  philosophical  setting 
the  term  will  inevitably  have  a  very  different  atmosphere  of 
meaning  in  the  two  minds. 

IV.      PRACTICAL  PROBLEMS   INVOLVED 

i.  The  first  of  these  is  the  problem  of  understanding. 
That  persons  often  misunderstand  one  another  is  the  veriest 
commonplace  of  experience,  and  it  constitutes  one  of  the 
most  persistent  and  serious  problems  of  every-day  life.  It 
is  important  to  inquire  how  the  difficulty  can  be  overcome, 
so  that  minds  sharply  differentiated  may  still  be  able  to 
understand  one  another  well  enough  at  least  to  hold  profit- 
able intercourse  and  not  to  do  each  other  serious  injustice 
by  misinterpretation.  Fortunately  it  seems  to  be  true  that 
wide  and  varied  experience,  acquaintance  with  many  phases 
of  life  and  general  intellectual  culture  not  only  lead  to  a 
higher  differentiation  of  individual  minds,  but  seem  also  to 
improve  the  productive  or  constructive  imagination.  By  a 
sympathetic  use  of  the  constructive  imagination  a  man 
whose  mind  is  very  different  in  organization  from  another's 
can,  if  he  is  acquainted  with  the  conditions  under  which  the 
other  has  lived,  approximately  represent  to  himself  his  men- 
tal system  and  thus  get  the  clue  to  his  meanings.  Of 
course,  men  who  are  naturally  gifted  with  imagination  will 
always  be  able  to  do  this  with  more  success  than  others; 
but  breadth  of  experience  and  general  culture  will  greatly 
aid  the  highly  endowed  as  well  as  the  mediocre  minds. 

The  first  and  most  urgent  problem  of  the  public  speaker, 
whether  he  be  a  lawyer  before  a  jury,  a  statesman  before 
the  people  or  a  preacher  before  his  congregation,  is  to  make 
himself  understood.  Only  the  dishonest  politician  can 
profit  by  a  confusion  of  meaning.  If  in  rare  cases  one  may 
rightly  conceal  his  thought  from  some  of  his  hearers,  as 
Jesus  seems  to  have  done  on  at  least  one  occasion,  it  is 


MENTAL   SYSTEMS  57 

never  legitimate  to  mislead.  But  if  the  speaker  tries  never 
so  hard  to  make  himself  clear,  he  will  often  have  cause  to 
wonder  at  the  strange  meanings  attributed  by  various 
hearers  to  statements  which  seem  to  him  to  be  capable  of  only 
one  interpretation.  There  is  laid  upon  him  the  necessity 
of  entering,  as  far  as  is  humanly  possible,  into  the  mental 
systems  of  his  hearers  and  of  limiting  himself  as  closely 
as  practicable  to  the  use  meanings  that  are  common  to  his 
own  and  the  various  minds  of  his  auditors.  For  he  is 
addressing  an  audience  all  of  whose  mental  systems  are 
different  from  his  own ;  but  that  is  not  the  worst  of  it  —  all 
their  mental  systems  are  different  from  one  another.  Be^ 
fore  him  are  represented  mental  divergences  arising  from 
organic  differences,  differences  of  occupation,  various  types 
and  stages  of  culture,  and  usually  also  divergences  arising 
from  various  mental  environments  in  which  the  hearers 
have  lived.  But  as  a  rule  the  preacher  is  in  a  worse  case 
than  any  other  public  speaker,  for  usually  his  audiences 
are  not  selected  on  any  definite  principle,  unless  it  be  that  of 
creed,  and  that  counts  for  less  than  ever  before  as  a  prin- 
ciple by  which  a  mentally  homogeneous  group  may  be 
brought  together.  His  audiences  are  likely  to  be  a  sort  of 
omnium  gatherum.  And  his  disadvantage  is  increased  by 
the  fact  that  he  has  usually  had  special  training  in  an  order 
of  ideas  and  terms  which  in  recent  times  seem  to  be  becom- 
ing less  and  less  familiar  to  the  people.  This  does  not  mean 
that  he  should  quit  studying  theology,  but  that  he  needs 
more  and  more  to  study  the  daily  life  of  the  people  as  well. 
It  is  obvious  to  one  who  closely  studies  preaching  today 
that  comparatively  few  preachers  realize  the  extent  to 
which  they  are  not  understood,  or  are  positively  misunder- 
stood, in  their  solemn  deliverances.  They  simply  do  not 
know  how  seriously  they  are  insulated  mentally  from  the 
masses  of  the  people. 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that  the  speaker  has  the  advantage 
of  the  writer  in  two  ways.  He  is  permitted  greater  latitude 
in  repetition,  and  he  may  interpret  his  meaning  not  only  by 


58  PSYCHOLOGY   AND  PREACHING 

words,  but  by  intonations,  gesticulations  and  changes  of 
facial  expression  —  all  of  which  are  very  important  ways 
of  conveying  meaning.  But  he  has  one  serious  disad- 
vantage—  he  has  to  make  his  meaning  apparent  at  once. 
The  hearer  can  not  linger  upon  words,  phrases  and  sentences 
to  extract  their  meaning,  as  the  reader  can;  and  if  the 
hearer  attempts  to  carry  them  away  in  memory  to  ponder 
upon  their  meaning,  it  will  be  found  that  the  probability 
of  misapprehension  and  misinterpretation  will  be  greatly 
increased. 

But  the  problem  of  understanding  is  a  double  one.  We 
must  not  only  try  to  make  others  understand  us ;  it  is  equally 
important  for  us  to  understand  others.  We  must  not  only 
communicate;  we  must  interpret.  And  the  latter  is  quite 
as  difficult  to  do  as  the  former.  In  every-day  intercourse 
we  face  this  difficulty,  and  it  should,  perhaps,  challenge  one's 
conscience  more  strongly  than  the  difficulty  of  accurately 
communicating  one's  own  thought,  though  usually  people 
are  much  more  careless  about  it.  For  certain  classes  of 
public  speakers  also  it  is  a  problem  which  will  engage  most 
serious  attention,  if  they  be  conscientious,  and  this  is  par- 
ticularly true  of  the  preacher,  whose  function  is  so  largely 
one  of  interpretation. 

2.  The  problem  of  exposition.  This  is  really  a  com- 
bination of  the  problems  of  communication  and  interpreta- 
tion. Much  of  preaching  is  and  should  be  exposition,  i.e., 
taking  the  ideas  of  one,  and  communicating  them  to  another 
mind.  It  is,  so  to  speak,  a  three-cornered  process.  A  must 
take  B's  thought  and  communicate  it  to  C.  Now,  A  has  one 
mental  system;  B  —  if  only  a  single  person — represents 
another;  C  —  if  only  a  single  person  —  still  another.  In 
order  to  understand  B  perfectly,  A  has  his  first  difficult 
task.  He  can  not  do  so  until  he  has  comprehended  B's 
mental  system  in  its  completeness.  It  is  manifest  that  he 
can  do  this  only  approximately.  His  second  difficulty  is  to 
communicate  B's  thought  to  C.  To  do  this  perfectly  he 
must  comprehend  adequately  not  only  B's  but  also  C's  men- 


MENTAL   SYSTEMS  59 

tal  system.  Manifestly  he  can  do  this  only  approximately. 
The  problem  of  exposition  as  thus  stated  is  difficult  enough. 
But  it  is  rare  that  the  process  is  so  simple.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  B  often  represented  not  one  person  but  several.  For 
instance,  in  the  case  of  the  preacher,  the  first  task  is  to 
understand  the  Bible.  But  the  Bible  contains  the  writings 
of  many  men,  and  to  render  the  matter  more  serious  still, 
those  men  lived  in  remote  and  widely  separated  periods  of 
time,  and  in  strikingly  different  mental  environments. 
Moreover,  C  represents  as  a  rule  not  a  single  person  but  a 
congregation  made  up  of  many  mental  types.  The  purpose 
is  not  to  exaggerate  the  difficulty.  The  bare  statement  of  it 
makes  it  appear  serious  enough;  but  it  is  desirable  that 
preachers  shall  become  more  sensible  of  its  magnitude. 
Perhaps  it  would  make  the  dogmatism  of  their  interpreta- 
tions and  deliverances  more  modest,  and  contribute  some- 
what to  their  humility. 

3.  The  problem  of  creedal  union.  Creeds  and  general 
formulas  of  every  kind  become  less  and  less  available  as 
bases  of  union  in  every  sphere  of  life.  It  is  increasingly 
difficult  to  get  men  to  agree  upon  them,  especially  if  they 
are  theoretical  in  character.  Where  the  functional  mean- 
ings prevail  in  theological  statements,  it  is  easier  to  secure 
agreement.  For  example,  if  we  say  that  Jesus  cleanses  the 
consciences  of  those  who  heartily  yield  themselves  to  him, 
and  gives  them  moral  power,  we  can  count  upon  very 
general  assent  from  Christian  people.  But  if  we  set  forth 
some  theory  of  these  facts,  those  same  people  will  fly  apart 
into  widely  separated  and  opposing  groups.  In  the  case  of 
a  creedal  statement  which  in  the  past  has  acquired  a  wide 
acceptance,  an  ever  wider  latitude  of  private  interpretation 
must  and  will  be  allowed.  And  what  is  true  of  creedal 
statements  is  true  of  abstract  formulas  of  every  kind. 
This  tendency  is  an  obvious  fact  of  our  present  day  relig- 
ious, political  and  philosophical  life.  New  theoretical 
creeds  will  spring  up  but  will  be  able  to  rally  to  their 
standards  smaller  proportions  of  the  total  population;  and 


6O  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

the  only  religious  creed  that  bids  fair  to  appproximate  uni- 
versal acceptance  is  that  which,  with  a  minimum  of  abstract 
formula,  makes  central  and  regnant  the  principle  of  private 
interpretation. 

4.  As  these  principles  governing  the  formation  of  mental 
systems  are  more  clearly  understood,  the  more  apparent 
becomes  the  utter  futility  of  many  of  the  bitter  contro- 
versies which  have  disturbed  the  peace  of  the  world. 
Many,  indeed  most,  of  them  have  been  veritable  logomachies. 
It  is  mainly,  if  not  exclusively,  in  the  sphere  of  the  use 
meanings  that  they  serve  a  good  purpose.  They  are  useful 
in  bringing  out  all  relevant  facts  and  thus  clearing  up 
practical  issues ;  but  even  in  matters  of  this  sort  their  value 
is  often  neutralized  by  hopeless  misunderstandings  and  the 
bad  feelings  which  they  engender.  In  matters  of  theoretical 
interest,  particularly  in  the  realms  of  science,  philosophy 
and  theology,  there  is  hardly  anything  that  can  be  said  in 
their  favour.  When  one  considers  the  brood  of  evil  passions 
which  they  have  produced  in  the  souls  of  men,  giving  license, 
yea,  even  sanction,  to  the  most  diabolical  impulses  of  human 
nature ;  when  one  tries  to  estimate  the  value  of  the  precious 
lives  sacrificed  in  the  blind  effort  to  settle  by  the  sword  or 
gibbet  controversies  which  could  not  be  settled  by  arguments 
because  men  were  so  differentiated  in  their  mental  life  that 
they  simply  could  not  understand  one  another;  and  when 
one  further  reflects  that,  apart  from  the  frightful  tragedies 
which  have  been  enacted,  much  of  the  best  energy  of  the 
human  spirit  has  run  to  waste  in  these  futile  struggles  — 
energy  which,  if  properly  directed,  would  have  led  humanity 
centuries  further  on  the  upward  way, —  one  must  conclude 
that  unseemly  controversy,  having  its  basis  in  ignorance  and 
misunderstanding,  has  been,  and  yet  is,  one  of  the  most 
serious  evils  which  has  afflicted  our  world.  With  very  dif- 
ferent mental  systems  and,  therefore,  different  meanings  for 
all  their  important  words,  men  controvert  with  a  passion 
which  rises  in  intensity  as  the  misunderstanding  deepens. 
Each  begins  with  the  intention  of  convincing  the  other  of  a 


MENTAL   SYSTEMS  6l 

truth,  but  often  ends  by  convincing  himself  that  the  other  is 
a  liar.  Controversy  can  not  be  intellectually  profitable  and 
can  only  be  morally  hurtful,  if  conducted  without  a  full 
recognition  of  the  extreme  difficulty  with  which  men  can 
understand  one  another  especially  in  matters  which  involve 
their  more  important  reflective  systems  of  ideas.  Asso- 
ciated with  the  same  terms  in  the  opposing  minds  there  will 
always  be  different  suggestions,  implications,  references 
more  or  less  remote  —  in  a  word,  different  atmospheres  of 
meaning  —  which  it  is  quite  impossible  to  communicate  to 
one  another.  This  general  setting  of  a  term  in  a  mental  sys- 
tem is  often  the  most  important  element  of  its  meaning ;  and 
not  only  do  the  antagonists  in  a  controversy  fail  to  appre- 
hend this  part  of  each  other's  meaning,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
each  imparts  to  a  term  used  by  the  other  the  particular  at- 
mosphere of  meaning  which  it  has  in  his  own  mind.  Con- 
troversy, therefore,  has  been  and  must  continue  to  be  a 
comparatively  barren  exercise  of  the  human  understanding; 
and,  unless  conducted  with  great  self-control  and  supreme 
humility  of  spirit,  will  not  only  not  clarify  the  truth  but 
will  darken  it  by  clouds  of  passion. 

5.  The  problem  of  co-operation.  In  the  light  of  these 
principles  we  can  see  why  it  is  so  much  easier  as  a  rule  to 
get  men  to  agree  on  things  to  be  done  than  on  a  system  to 
be  believed;  and  why  it  is  easier  to  secure  agreement  on 
specific  things  to  be  done  than  on  a  general  statement  of 
policy,  the  latter  implying  a  more  extensive  unity  in  their 
systems  of  thought.  Men  can  often  unite  in  doing  a  certain 
thing,  when  they  cannot  at  all  unite  in  a  statement  of  the 
reasons  why  it  should  be  done ;  and  the  more  elaborate  such 
a  statement  is  the  less  likely  is  agreement  in  it.  A  large 
number  of  persons  may  approve  a  certain  act,  but  back  of 
the  approval  may  lie  very  different  systems  of  ideas  and 
courses  of  reasoning;  for  the  use  meanings,  which  are 
built  up  unreflectively  in  the  ordinary  activities  of  life,  are 
usually,  in  mature  minds,  connected  up  with  a  broader  sys- 
tem of  reflectively  organized  concepts.  The  narrow  use 


62  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

meanings  may  constitute  a  basis  of  co-operation  in  doing 
some  act,  while  in  the  larger  meanings  involved  there  may 
be  differences  or,  in  extreme  cases,  opposition.  Sometimes 
it  happens  that  two  men  agree  that  a  certain  thing  ought 
to  be  done,  and  associate  themselves  together  for  doing  it 
with  entirely  different  or  directly  opposite  ends  in  view. 
For  instance,  two  men  favour  the  extension  of  governmental 
control  over  corporations,  or  the  fixing  of  a  minimum  wage ; 
the  one  because  he  regards  such  a  measure  as  a  distinct 
advance  toward  the  socialistic  organization  of  society,  the 
other  as  a  means  of  warding  off  socialism  and  maintaining 
society  on  a  competitive  basis.  Two  men  contribute  to 
foreign  missions;  the  one  because  he  conceives  it  to  be  a 
process  of  spreading  a  higher  civilization  in  this  world  and 
redeeming  human  society,  the  other  in  order  that  some  indi- 
vidual souls  may  be  saved  from  the  doom  of  a  world  which 
is  beyond  redemption.  In  many  cases  a  wholly  different  or 
contradictory  system  of  meanings  constitutes  the  mental 
background  of  the  same  action. 

We  may  see  in  the  religious  tendencies  of  our  times  a 
notable  exemplification  of  the  principles  we  have  discussed. 
While  the  disintegration  of  authoritative  creeds  has  pro- 
ceeded apace,  the  groups  originally  united  on  the  bases  of 
creeds  have  maintained  an  effective  unity.  Institutional 
forms  of  activity  have  grown  up  in  each  communion,  and 
while  the  bonds  of  common  belief  have  been  becoming  looser 
and  the  actual  theological  unity  has  been  crumbling,  the 
members  have  found  the  institutional  activities  a  practical 
basis  of  association  and  co-operation,  although  sometimes 
they  engage  in  these  activities  with  very  different  concep- 
tions of  their  real  significance.  Moreover,  as  the  theolog- 
ical cohesion  has  become  less  marked,  the  emphasis  has 
fallen  more  and  more  upon  the  ethical  and  social  meaning 
of  religion;  and  groups  that  once  stood  aloof  from  each 
other  as  solid  theological  unions,  and  whose  creeds  are  now 
falling  into  a  sort  of  anarchy  of  individual  convictions,  are 


MENTAL  SYSTEMS  63 

drawing  near  to  one  another  and  co-operating  in  social 
movements  and  many  forms  of  ethical  endeavour.  The 
systems  of  theoretical  meanings  in  religion  have  become 
impracticable  as  bases  of  extensive  union ;  and  both  within 
and  between  the  separate  communions  the  use  meanings  of 
practical  life  form  the  chief  available  bases  of  associated 
action  on  a  large  scale.  In  this  we  find  the  psychological 
explanation  of  both  the  integrating  and  disintegrating 
processes  which  have  attracted  so  much  attention  in  the 
religious  world. 

We  find  here  also  the  explanation  of  the  fact  that  men 
have  a  growing  disinclinaton  to  enter  into  forms  of  asso- 
ciation which  are  expected  to  be  permanent.  The  per- 
manent association  of  a  large  number  of  individuals  implies 
a  degree  of  permanent  mental  uniformity  which  in  these 
days  rarely  exists,  and  so  hinders  the  free  development  of 
the  personality  which  is  so  precious  a  privilege  of  modern 
men.  And  yet  this  is  not  the  manifestation  of  an  anti- 
social spirit.  It  is  not  difficult  to  secure  the  co-operation  of 
large  numbers  for  specific,  proximate,  practical  ends.  In 
fact,  such  temporary  combinations  were  never  so  frequently 
formed  or  so  numerous  in  the  history  of  the  world.  But 
the  ease  with  which  co-operative  combinations  are  formed 
is  balanced  by  the  ease  with  which  they  are  dissolved  as 
soon  as  the  proximate  ends  for  which  they  are  organized  are 
secured.  It  is  an  indication  of  the  vast  growth  of  the 
voluntary  principle  of  association  in  modern  society. 
There  is  no  reason,  therefore,  either  to  hope  for  or  to  dread 
a  permanent  organic  union  of  various  religious  groups  upon 
either  a  theological  or  an  institutional  basis.  Human  asso- 
ciation becomes,  so  to  speak,  more  fluid  with  the  passing 
generations ;  and  the  organized  co-operative  relations  of  men 
more  and  more  resemble,  not  the  rigid  strata  of  rock  which 
give  configuration  to  the  solid  earth,  but  the  waves  and  bil- 
lows of  the  changeful  sea,  forever  forming  only  to  be  re- 
formed in  different  shape.  But  there  is  this  difference  — 


64  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

the  movement  in  society  is  not,  like  that  of  the  sea,  a  static 
agitation  (if  I  may  coin  a  paradox),  but  means  on  the  whole 
a  progress  toward  a  higher  average  development  of  indi- 
vidual personalities  and  the  more  thorough  democratization 
of  the  social  order. 


CHAPTER  IV 

FEELING 

FEELINGS  are  exceptionally  changeful  and  variable  fac- 
tors of  experience,  and  easly  blend  into  compounds  whose 
elements  are  hard  to  distinguish.  Moreover,  a  feeling  can 
not  easily  be  seized  by  the  attention  and  held  steadily 
enough  before  consciousness  for  critical  study.  It  is  diffi- 
cult, indeed,  to  do  this  in  the  case  of  any  mental  phenomenon 
—  so  much  so  that  some  psychologists  are  disposed  to  de- 
preciate the  value  of  introspection  as  a  scientific  method; 
but  it  is  especially  difficult  when  we  are  seeking  to  analyze 
and  describe  feelings.  When  we  try  to  do  this  we  are  apt 
to  find  ourselves  engaged  in  a  chase  after  a  constantly 
elusive  phenomenon,  always  on  the  trail  of  it,  ever  about  to 
seize  it,  but  never  quite  succeeding.  It  is  possible,  however, 
to  secure  insight  into  this  realm  of  our  experience,  if  we 
have  sufficient  patience  and  industry,  and  for  those  whose 
occupation  it  is  to  persuade  men  to  action  nothing  is  more 
important.  We  shall,  therefore,  devote  this  and  the  two 
succeeding  chapters  to  a  study  of  this  most  problematical 
aspect  of  our  mental  life. 

i.  It  will  help  us  to  keep  our  bearings  in  this  hazy  region 
if  we  make  at  the  beginning  and  keep  in  mind  the  distinction 
between  feelings  and  feeling-tones. 

(i)  As  to  feeling-tones.  A  feeling-tone  is  an  accom- 
paniment of  conscious  experience.  It  surrounds  or  en- 
velops the  focal  point  of  consciousness.  We  are  justified, 
perhaps,  in  saying  that  it  is  an  accompaniment  of  all  con- 
scious processes,  though  psychologists  are  not  entirely 
agreed  as  to  this  point.  Some  maintain  that  there  are  con- 
scious mental  states  which  have  no  feeling-tones  at  all,  are 

65 


66  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

entirely  neutral.  But  there  are  reasons  to  regard  this 
judgment  as  inaccurate.  For  practical  purposes,  no  doubt, 
some  mental  states  may  be  treated  as  destitute  of  emotional 
meaning;  but  in  scientific  accuracy  it  is  better  to  say  that 
every  state  of  consciousness  has  some  feeling-tone,  even 
though  it  be  for  the  time  a  negligible  factor.  The  point 
where  the  emotional  colour  of  experience  absolutely  dis- 
appears will  be  found  to  be  the  point  where  consciousness 
itself  disappears.  But  it  does  not  follow  that  there  is  a 
definite  and  fixed  proportion  between  them;  for  the  inten- 
sity of  a  state  of  consciousness  does  not  always  involve  a 
corresponding  intensity  of  feeling-tone.  The  intensity  of 
the  conscious  state  is  only  one  of  the  several  factors  which 
determine  the  intensity  of  feeling.  What  those  other  fac- 
tors are  we  shall  seek  to  determine  later ;  at  present  we  need 
only  to  remark  that  while  strong  feeling-tones  imply  intense 
states  of  consciousness,  the  converse  may  not  be  true,  be- 
cause in  any  given  state  of  consciousness  the  feeling-tone 
is  only  one  factor,  and  the  several  factors  entering  into  any 
state  of  consciousness  vary  independently  according  to  their 
own  laws.  Our  only  concern  now  is  to  insist  that  every 
state  of  consciousness  has  a  certain  tone  of  feeling.  This 
is  the  peculiarly  subjective  phase,  or  reference,  of  every 
experience,  its  meaning  for  the  self;  and  is  always  either 
pleasant  or  unpleasant.  It  is,  therefore,  the  basis  of  our 
valuation  of  our  experiences  and  of  our  attribution  of 
values  to  the  external  objects  of  experience. 

(2)  As  to  feelings.  A  feeling  should  be  distinguished 
from  a  feeling-tone.  The  tone  of  pleasantness  or  unpleas- 
antness is  a  part,  or  a  factor,  of  the  feeling;  and  the  other 
factor  is  a  blended  mass  of  organic  sensations,  i.e.,  sensa- 
tions of  changes  or  disturbances  of  the  vital  processes  of 
the  organism.  This  distinction,  it  seems  to  me,  throws  light 
upon  some  problems  about  which  psychologists  have  been 
divided.  Wundt  and  his  followers,  for  instance,  have 
claimed  that  every  feeling  may  be  located  somewhere  in 
each  of  three  scales,  or  as  he  expresses  it,  every  feeling 


FEELING  67 

has  three  "  dimensions."  A  given  feeling  is  found  in  each 
of  the  scales,  pleasantness-unpleasantness,  tension-relax- 
ation, excitement-quiescence.  This  doctrine  has  been  much 
criticised  on  the  ground  that  the  last  two  couplets  of  terms 
apply  to  the  sensational  factors  of  consciousness  but  not  to 
feeling  per  se.  The  misunderstanding  seems  to  me  to  arise 
out  of  the  fact  that  both  Wundt  and  his  critics  have  failed 
to  make  the  distinction,  mentioned  above,  between  feeling 
and  feeling-tone.  They  both  seem  to  treat  the  pleasantness 
or  unpleasantness  of  a  sensation  as  a  feeling.  But  a  feeling 
is  in  fact  a  sensation  or  blended  mass  of  sensations  plus  a 
feeling-tone  of  pleasantness  or  unpleasantness  which  indi- 
cates its  meaning  for  the  organism.  Wundt's  "  tension-re- 
laxation "  and  "  excitement-quiescence "  may  be  simply 
organic  sensational  factors  of  a  given  state  of  consciousness, 
as  his  critics  maintain;  but  these  have  their  inevitable  ac- 
companiment of  pleasant  or  unpleasant  tone,  and  with  this 
constitute  a  feeling. 

This  distinction,  it  seems  to  me,  enables  us  to  resolve 
another  difficulty  in  which  many  writers  on  the  subject  find 
themselves.  If  a  feeling  is  nothing  more  than  the  pleasant- 
ness or  unpleasantness  of  an  experience,  then  it  would  seem 
that  there  are  only  two  kinds  of  feelings.  But  is  it  true 
that  there  is  no  difference  between  pleasant  feelings  or 
between  unpleasant  feelings  except  that  of  degree?  May 
not  two  pleasant  feelings  be  different  in  kind  as  well  as  in 
degree?  If  a  feeling  is  composed  of  a  mass  of  more  or  less 
definite  sensations  plus  a  feeling-tone  of  pleasantness  or 
unpleasantness,  the  answer  obviously  is,  yes.  The  feeling 
aroused  by  the  news  of  my  friend's  recovery  from  a  critical 
illness  is  different  in  kind,  and  not  alone  in  degree,  from 
that  aroused  by  a  drink  of  cold  water  on  a  hot  day.  The 
chagrin  aroused  by  the  defeat  of  my  favourite  base-ball 
team  is  a  different  feeling  from  the  sense  of  sin.  They  are 
both  unpleasant  and,  if  the  unpleasantness  is  the  feeling 
then  there  is  no  difference  between  them  as  feelings  except 
possibly  one  of  degree.  This  is  contrary  to  common  sense 


68  PSYCHOLOGY   AND  PREACHING 

and  to  the  testimony  of  consciousness.  The  mere  pleasant- 
ness or  unpleasantness  of  the  organic  sensations  may  be  dis- 
tinguished in  thought  from  them;  but  as  a  matter  of  fact 
the  sensation,  or  mass  of  sensations,  and  its  feeling-tone 
are  integral  and  inseparable  parts  of  a  single  experience, 
and  this  is  a  feeling. 

2.  Feeling  and  emotion.  Among  our  affective  expe- 
riences there  are  some  which  have  a  more  specific,  definite 
and  intense  character  than  others.  These  are  called  "  the 
emotions,"  and  by  psychologists  are  often  treated  separately 
as  phenomena  distinct  from  the  feelings  in  general.  It  is 
not  possible  to  give  a  satisfactory  list  of  the  emotions ;  but 
anger,  fear,  joy,  grief,  shame,  pride,  and  sexual  excitement 
are  the  principal  primary  emotions,  though  they  may  be 
blended  with  one  another  in  many  complex  forms,  and  each 
of  them  has  its  moral,  intellectual  or  aesthetic  correlative. 
Each  of  them  is  supposed  to  result  from  the  excitation  of  a 
particular  instinct.  "  Each  of  the  principal  instincts  con- 
ditions some  one  kind  of  emotional  excitement  whose  quality 
is  specific  and  peculiar  to  it;  and  the  emotional  excitement 
of  specific  quality  that  is  the  affective  aspect  of  the  operation 
of  any  one  of  the  principal  instincts  may  be  called  a  primary 
emotion."  1  On  the  physical  side  they  are  marked  by  cer- 
tain characteristic  disturbances  of  the  nervous  system,  and 
on  the  psychical  side  they  are  marked  by  certain  masses  of 
blended  sensations  usually  with  intense  feeling-tones.  For 
instance,  "  in  anger  we  ordinarily  find  the  breathing  dis- 
turbed, the  circulation  irregular  and  many  of  the  voluntary 
muscles,  e.g.,  those  of  the  hands  and  face,  tense  and  rigid. 
These  muscular  movements  are  inevitably  reported  by  dis- 
tinct modifications  in  the  tone  of  consciousness.  In  grief 
an  opposite  type  of  muscular  condition  is  met  with,  i.e.,  de- 
pression of  motor  tonicity  throughout  most  of  the  system."  2 

Now,  in  what  respects  are  these  differentiated  from  our 

1  MacDougal,  "  Social  Psychology,"  p.  47. 

2  Angell,  "  Psychology,"  p.  137. 


FEELING  69 

general  affective  experiences?  It  is  evident  that,  although 
they  are  usually  treated  separately  as  "  the  emotions,"  they 
do  not  constitute  a  fundamentally  distinct  type  of  expe- 
riences. They  stand  out  from  among  the  other  phenomena 
of  our  feeling  life  by  reason  of  several  distinct  marks. 
First,  they  seem  to  be  more  immediately  connected  with  the 
definite,  fundamental  and  strongly  organized  instincts  of 
the  organism.  Second,  they  are  more  intense.  Third,  they 
are  more  definite,  i.e.,  they  affect  in  more  definite  ways 
definite  tracts  of  the  nervous  system ;  the  sensations  of  these 
nervous  changes  are,  therefore,  more  definite,  and  the  feel- 
ing-tones accompanying  them  are  apt  to  be  intense  and 
definite  also.  They  are  the  outstanding  elevations  —  the 
chains  of  mountains,  so  to  speak  —  in  the  general  landscape 
of  the  emotional  life.1 

We  have,  then,  feelings ;  emotions,  which  are  only  feelings 
of  a  more  definite,  pronounced  andl  intense  character;  and 
feeling-tones,  that  indicate  the  meaning  for  the  organism 
of  the  internal  disturbances  reported  to  us  by  the  organic 
sensations,  which  are  constituent  elements  of  every  feeling 
and  emotion. 

3.  Another  distinction  which  should  be  drawn  is  that 
between  pain  and  unpleasantness.  It  is  not  of  great  prac- 
tical importance,  but  will  at  least  avoid  confusion.  It  is 
now  maintained  by  all  psychologists  that  pain  is  a  specific 
sensation  with  a  special  set  of  nerves  as  its  bearers,  and  may 
itself  be  located  in  the  scale  of  pleasantness-unpleasantness. 
It  is  a  well  known  fact  that  there  are  certain  pains  which 
up  to  a  certain  point  are  pleasant,  although,  of  course, 
nearly  all  sensations  of  pain  in  all  degrees  of  intensity  have 
the  unpleasant  feeling-tone.  The  matter  is  referred  to  here, 
however,  not  because  of  its  practical  interest,  but  mainly 
in  order  to  explain  the  avoidance  in  this  discussion  of  the 
terms  "  pain  "  and  "  painful  "  in  the  description  of  feelings. 

1  See  Maier,  "  Psychologic  des  Emotionalen  Denkens,"  pp.  413- 
418. 


7O  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

The  terms  "  unpleasant "  and  "  unpleasantness,"  or  "  dis- 
agreeable "  and  "  disagreeableness "  are  consistently  used 
instead,  although  so  much  longer  and  less  euphonious. 

4.  Does  the  physiological  disturbance  cause  the  feeling- 
tone  or  does  the  feeling-tone  cause  the  physiological  dis- 
turbance ?  As  it  is  often  expressed,  do  we  feel  sorry  because 
we  cry  or  do  we  cry  because  we  feel  sorry?  It  used  to  be 
considered  as  a  matter  of  course  —  as  it  is  yet  by  the  un- 
sophisticated—  that  when  we  experienced  an  unpleasant 
feeling  this  feeling  caused  and  manifested  itself  in  certain 
motor  effects,  certain  physiological  disturbances.  It  was 
supposed  that  the  perception  of  a  danger  caused  a  feeling 
of  fear  and  that  the  feeling  of  fear  caused  the  trembling, 
etc.;  or  that  the  manifestation  by  one  person  of  a 
hostile  purpose  against  another  aroused  in  the  latter  a  feel- 
ing of  anger  and  that  this  feeling  caused  the  contraction 
of  certain  facial  muscles,  the  doubling  of  the  fists,  the 
quickening  of  the  heart-beat,  etc.  This  naive  conception  of 
the  relation  between  the  feeling  and  its  motor  accom- 
paniment is  held  by  many  psychologists  today  to  be  just 
the  reverse  of  the  truth.  On  the  contrary,  so  it  is  claimed, 
the  presence  of  a  danger  starts  certain  motor  reactions  in 
the  reflexive  and  instinctive  nervous  organization  and  these 
physiological  disturbances  are  echoed  in  consciousness  as 
the  feeling  of  fear;  and  so  with  all  other  feelings.  The 
feeling,  according  to  this  theory,  is  always  the  reaction  in 
consciousness  of  the  excitation  of  the  reflexive  and  in- 
stinctive co-ordinations  of  the  nervous  system.  The  pri- 
mary effect  of  the  stimulus  is  physiological  and  the  sec- 
ondary effect  is  psychical.  This  is  the  celebrated  James- 
Lange  theory  of  the  emotions,  so  called  because  it  was  pro- 
pounded about  the  same  time  by  those  two  eminent  psychol- 
ogists. While  there  are  many  facts  which  seem  to  confirm 
this  theory,  and  while  it  is  unquestionably  true  that  a  feel- 
ing is  never  unaccompanied  by  some  organic  disturbance, 
the  conclusion  that  the  feeling  is  caused  by  the  physiological 
reaction  is  not  necessary.  We  are  psycho-physical  organ- 


FEELING  71 

isms ;  it  is  quite  possible,  and  there  are  good  reasons  which 
render  it  quite  probable,  that  the  physical  excitation  and  the 
conscious  realization  of  its  meaning  for  the  organism,  are 
simultaneous  effects  of  the  stimulus.  The  psycho-physical 
organism  reacts  to  every  stimulus  that  enters  consciousness 
with  a  double  response  —  one  psychical  (affective),  the  other 
physical  (nervous  and  muscular).  Why  think  of  either  as 
preceding  the  other  in  time  ?  However,  the  important  prac- 
tical consideration  is  that  there  always  accompany  feelings 
certain  physiological  excitations.  These  organic  disturb- 
ances corresponding  to  the  various  feelings  are  of  great  sig- 
nificance, and  must  be  carefully  considered  in  order  to  arrive 
at  an  understanding  of  the  emotional  life. 

5.  It  is  a  matter  of  great  theoretical  and  even  greater 
practical  importance  to  understand  the  relation  of  feeling, 
i.e.,  the  conscious  side  of  emotion,  to  the  motor,  or  physical 
side.  They  do  not  stand  in  a  fixed  or  invariable  ratio  to  one 
another.  To  bring  out  this  relation  I  shall  quote  from 
Angell.1  "  The  peculiar  feeling  which  marks  off  each  emo- 
tion from  other  emotions  is  primarily  due  to  the  different 
reactions  which  various  objects  call  forth.  These  reactions 
are  in  turn  determined  by  circumstances  which  may  lie  in- 
definitely far  back  in  the  early  history  of  the  race,  but  in 
each  case  they  require  for  their  effective  manipulation 
special  forms  of  co-ordination  of  the  incoming  with  the  out- 
going nerves.  Every  emotional  reaction  represents,  there- 
fore, the  survival  of  acts  originally  useful.  ...  In  the  pres- 
ent-day individual  these  originally  valuable  reactions  are 
not  commonly  executed  as  they  once  were,  for  they  are  no 
longer  unequivocally  useful.  But  they  appear  now  in  the 
form  of  attitudes  or  tendencies  to  actions,  which  are,  how- 
ever, in  part  inhibited  from  expression.  This  inhibition  is 
due  to  the  fact  that,  owing  to  our  personal  experience  and 
present  complex  structure,  the  emotional  stimulus  tends  to 
produce  two  or  more  different  motor  reactions,  instead  of 
producing  simply  the  old,  instinctive,  hereditary  one.  The 
i "  Psychology,"  pp.  327-333- 


72  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

emotion  is  in  essence  our  consciousness  of  the  conflict 
between  the  several  reactions  which  the  stimulus  tends 
to  call  forth.  The  conflict  subsides  only  when  the  two  or 
more  groups  of  nascently  aroused  co-ordinations  are  in  some 
way  unified  and  brought  into  a  larger  and  more  inclusive 
co-ordination.  .  .  .  The  point  we  here  make  is  that  we 
should  not  become  so  vividly  aware  of  the  movement  were 
there  not  a  tendency  to  inhibit  them,  exercised  by  tendencies 
to  make  other  movements.  .  .  .  The  emotion  is  a  state  of 
tension,  and  this  fact  is  all  too  likely  to  be  submerged  from 
notice  in  our  disposition  to  emphasize  the  objective  basis  of 
our  emotion  rather  than  the  mental  experience  in  which 
it  is  apprehended." 

This  matter  will  become  clearer  if  we  consider  certain 
facts  in  the  constitution  of  our  bodies.  The  several  organs 
of  the  body  fall  into  two  groups  broadly  distinguished  as  to 
their  general  functions.  I.  There  is  a  group  of  organs  the 
general  function  of  which  is  to  effect  adjustments  between 
the  organism  and  the  external  environment.  2.  There  is  a 
group  which  have  for  their  function  the  carrying  on  of  cer- 
tain vital  processes  within  the  body,  such  as  respiration, 
digestion,  circulation  of  the  blood  and  secretion.  The  first 
group  falls  into  two  distinct  classes.  ( i )  There  are  certain 
parts  of  the  organism  which  are  adapted  to  the  purpose  of 
apprising  us  of  the  qualities  and  location  of  the  objects  with 
which  we  have  to  do  in  the  environment.  Under  this  head 
come  the  several  senses  —  the  organs  of  sight,  hearing, 
touch,  taste,  smell.  (2)  There  are  certain  parts  which  are 
adapted  to  act  upon  the  objects  of  the  external  environment, 
either  for  the  purpose  of  modifying  them  or  changing  the 
relations  of  the  body  to  them.  Among  these  organs  are  the 
legs  and  feet,  the  arms  and  hands.  To  this  class  belong  also 
the  organs  of  mastication,  and  in  it  also  may  be  included  the 
vocal  organs  and  the  facial  muscles. 

Now  fix  attention  upon  these  two  divisions  of  the  first 
group.  When  through  any  of  the  senses  the  organism  re- 
ceives a  stimulus  and  the  impulse  which  the  stimulus  excites 


FEELING  73 

passes  into  immediate,  full  and  unhindered  expression 
through  the  organs  whose  function  it  is  to  act  upon  the 
external  environment  there  is  little  or  no  feeling.  Feeling 
proper  arises  when  the  impulse  is  more  or  less  checked,  hin- 
dered from  immediate  and  full  expression  through  those 
channels  —  i.e.,  when  it  is  deflected  and  causes  a  reaction 
in  the  muscles  connected  with  the  second  general  group  of 
functions.  The  impulse  thus  deflected  causes  a  tension  in 
the  vital  organs  which  carry  on  the  processes  of  digestion, 
respiration,  circulation  of  the  blood  and  secretion;  and  this 
tension  is  interpreted  in  consciousness  as  pleasant  or  un- 
pleasant. If  the  reaction  is  purely  reflex  or  instinctive,  i.e., 
if  the  impulse  passes  into  motor  expression  absolutely  un- 
checked, it  will  hardly  be  conscious  at  all.  It  is  true  that 
reflex  actions,  and  especially  instinctive  actions,  are  fre- 
quently reported  in  consciousness;  but  they  are  not  con- 
trolled by  consciousness;  and  that  one  is  conscious  of  them 
at  all  is  probably  due  to  the  fact  that  the  nerve  current  as 
it  passes  over  the  reflex  arc  often  radiates  to  other  parts  of 
the  nervous  system  and  produces  consciousness  as  a  "  by- 
product." We  may  say,  then,  that  just  in  so  far  as  the 
impulse  is  restrained  from  immediate  and  full  expression 
in  reflexive  reaction  and  is  converted  into  organic  tension  it 
will  become  conscious,  and  pleasantly  or  unpleasantly  con- 
scious according  to  conditions.  However,  this  is  true  only 
within  limits;  for  as  we  shall  see  later  on,  the  organic  dis- 
turbances may  become  so  great  as  to  result  in  unconscious- 
ness. The  deflection  of  the  impulse  and  its  partial  or  com- 
plete conversion  into  tension  of  the  vital  organs  result  from 
the  conflict  of  motor  tendencies  due  to  the  more  complex 
structure  of  the  higher  organisms  and  to  the  accumulation 
of  the  effects  of  past  individual  experience,  as  set  forth  in 
the  above  quotation  from  Angell. 

We  may  conclude,  then,  that  unrestrained  external  motor 
manifestation  is  not  a  sign  of  deep  or  intense  feeling-tones. 
Ribot  remarks,  "  It  is  a  sort  of  psychological  law  that  the 
intensity  of  consciousness  should  vary  inversely  as  the  in- 


74  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

tensity  of  the  movement  produced."  1  Intense  feeling  is  the 
accompaniment  of  restrained,  controlled,  regulated  motor 
manifestation.  Cultivated  persons  whose  physical  expres- 
sions are  restrained  and  controlled  feel  more  deeply,  i.e., 
have  a  deeper  conscious  realization  of  the  meaning  of  their 
experiences,  other  things  being  equal,  than  uncultivated  per- 
sons who  practise  little  self-restraint.  Undiscriminating 
people  often  make  serious  mistakes  as  to  this.  As  a  rule  it 
is  not  the  person  who  is  leaping  or  clapping  his  hands  who 
really  feels  the  joy  or  grief  most  keenly,  but  the  quiet,  self- 
controlled  person  at  his  side,  in  whom  conflicting  and  mu- 
tually hindering  motor  tendencies  are  aroused,  resulting  in 
a  temporary  state  of  organic  tension  and  suspended  action 
until  rational  processes  intervene,  resolve  the  conflict  and 
release  the  impulse  through  the  selected  motor  channel,  or 
else  inhibit  it  altogether.  The  public  speaker  who  aims  to 
produce  these  stormy  demonstrations  should  be  apprised 
of  the  fact  that  in  effecting  such  results  he  is  missing  the 
higher  and  more  serious  practical  end,  since  the  impulse 
created  by  his  appeal,  instead  of  moving  centrally  the  per- 
sonality of  the  hearer,  simply  takes  the  form  of  an  imme- 
diate reflexive  muscular  reaction  unattended  by  any  deep 
and  keen  realization  of  its  meaning.  But  the  worst  of  it  is 
that  the  inhibit! ve  capacity  of  the  organism  has  thus  been 
weakened,  and  this  capacity  is  the  very  basis  of  the  possibility 
of  deep  feeling.  The  capacity  for  deep  feeling  is  cultivated 
by  self-restraint.  In  a  word,  demoralization  and  the  dis- 
integration of  the  personality  result  from  the  failure  to  re- 
strain the  impulses. 

Of  course,  the  foregoing  statements  as  to  the  relative 
depth  and  intensity  of  the  conscious  side  of  feeling  in  per- 
sons of  low  and  of  high  mental  development  should  not  be 
taken  without  qualification.  "  Other  things  being  equal," 
we  have  said.  But  other  things  are  not  always  equal.  Peo- 
ple, for  instance,  differ  from  one  another  widely  in  their 
natural  sensibility;  and  for  that  matter  the  sensibility  of 

* "  The  Psychology  of  the  Emotions,"  p.  224. 


FEELING  75 

the  same  person  is  not  always  the  same.  It  may  happen 
that  the  cultivated  person  is  naturally  of  dull  sensibility,  and 
that  the  uncultivated  person  has  naturally  very  keen  sen- 
sibility. In  that  case  the  natural  difference  may  overbal- 
ance the  cultural  difference.  Of  course,  if  the  quietness  of 
the  cultivated  individual  is  not  the  result  of  self-restraint 
but  of  naturally  dull  sensibility,  the  lack  of  external  demon- 
stration is  not  the  sign  of  deep  conscious  feeling;  but  then 
the  internal  organic  tension  will  be  absent.  The  point  is 
that  external  demonstration  and  inward  organic  tension  are 
generally  in  inverse  proportion  to  one  another.  When  the 
organic  tension  becomes  so  great  that  it  cannot  be  con- 
trolled, it  relieves  itself  through  the  external  demonstration ; 
the  point  at  which  the  control  breaks  down  is  high  or  low 
according  to  the  degree  of  the  mental  development,  and  the 
feeling-tone  is  proportionate  to  the  internal  tension.  It  can- 
not be  questioned,  therefore,  that,  given  equal  natural  sen- 
sibility, the  quiet,  self-restrained  person  has  the  deeper  con- 
scious feeling  response  to  a  stimulus  of  the  same  intensity. 
It  should  be  borne  in  mind,  too,  that  culture  normally  tends 
to  develop  the  natural  sensibility,  as  it  does  all  other  capac- 
ities. In  general,  the  statement  unquestionably  holds  good 
that  quietness  and  self-possession  in  exciting  situations  indi- 
cate intense  rather  than  weak  feeling-tones. 

6.  An  important  question  now  to  be  considered  is,  why 
do  some  experiences  cause  pleasant  and  others  unpleasant 
states  of  consciousness?  In  order  to  answer  this  question 
we  must  remember  that  every  conscious  being  begins  its 
existence  with  a  very  complex  organization.  First,  there  is 
the  organization  which  it  inherits  as  a  member  of  the  race 
to  which  it  belongs,  wherein  it  is  constituted  like  all  other 
members  of  its  race.  In  the  second  place,  it  has  stamped 
upon  it  at  the  beginning  of  its  existence  certain  individual 
characteristics,  due,  perhaps,  in  part,  to  the  conditions  under 
which  its  generation  took  place,  though  it  is  not  possible  to 
give  an  adequate  explanation  of  individual  variations. 
These  special  characteristics  of  its  individual  organization 


76  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

will,  as  a  rule,  be  more  marked  —  i.e.,  the  individuals  of  a 
race  will  at  birth  be  more  sharply  differentiated  from  one 
another  in  their  peculiar  organization  —  the  more  highly 
developed  the  race  is  and  the  more  varied  and  complex  the 
life-conditions  of  the  race  are.  Men,  for  instance,  are 
probably  more  highly  differentiated  from  one  another  at  the 
very  beginning  of  individual  life  than  the  lower  animals  are. 
But,  in  the  third  place,  the  individual  organism  thus 
equipped  at  birth  has  the  capacity  to  acquire  habits,  to  re- 
ceive relatively  permanent  modifications  of  its  general  struc- 
ture, and  especially  of  its  nervous  organization,  resulting 
from  its  individual  experience.  Man's  capacity  in  this  re- 
spect is  immeasurably  above  that  of  the  lower  orders  of 
life,  and  the  variations  among  men  in  this  respect  also  are 
far  greater  than  in  inferior  species.  Of  course,  the  term 
"  organization  "  should  not  be  understood  in  the  static,  but 
in  the  dynamic  sense;  it  should  not  be  taken  as  indicating 
simply  or  mainly  a  fixed  adjustment  of  parts  to  one  another, 
but  functionally  as  referring  to  regular  and  correlated  modes 
of  the  operation  of  vital  forces.  There  is  in  the  organism  a 
more  or  less  fixed  relation  and  proportion  of  physical  parts ; 
but  the  more  significant  thing  in  its  constitution  is  that  the 
vital  processes  or  reactions  are  related  to  one  another  in 
regular  and  characteristic  ways.  Now,  this  correlation  of 
the  vital  processes  is  different  in  different  organisms  ac- 
cording to  their  constitution  and  acquired  habits.  We  must 
bear  in  mind,  in  the  third  place,  that  processes  of  activity 
are  going  on  in  the  adjustment  of  the  organism  to  its  en- 
vironment. These  current  activities  are  largely  under  the 
control  of  the  organic  and  acquired  tendencies;  but  not 
wholly  so,  for  in  that  case  it  would  be  impossible  to  acquire 
habits  at  all.  They  are  in  some  measure  guided  by  intel- 
ligence, i.e.,  they  are  voluntary.  Their  function  is  the 
adaptation  of  the  organism  to  a  complex  and  changing  en- 
vironment, and  they  result  in  the  further  organization  of 
the  life.  The  organization  of  rational  beings  is  not  com- 
plete, and  the  organization  is  proceeding  in  these  voluntary, 


FEELING  77 

intelligently  guided  activities.  We  have,  then,  the  inherited 
organic  constitution  and  functions;  these  inherited  charac- 
teristics as  modified  by  habits  acquired;  and  these,  in  turn, 
undergoing  modification  by  voluntary  processes  from  mo- 
ment to  moment.  It  is  obvious,  therefore,  that  the  condi- 
tions of  feeling  are  both  obscure  and  extremely  complicated. 
"  Emotions/'  says  Angell,  "  are  extremely  complex  proc- 
esses, so  far  at  least  as  the  organic  activities  which  condi- 
tion them.  In  emotions  we  are  not  only  conscious  of  the 
emotional  object,  as  in  ordinary  perceptual  acts,  we  are  also 
overwhelmed  by  a  mass  of  sensational  and  affective  elements 
brought  about  by  the  intra-organic  activities  of  our  own 
musculature."  He  makes  this  remark  with  reference  to  the 
definite  and  distinctive  emotions  discussed  above;  but  it  is 
also  manifestly  true  of  all  our  feeling  experiences.  Indeed, 
it  is  probably  more  difficult  to  analyze  the  organic  proc- 
esses involved  in  the  less  definite  and  pronounced  feelings 
than  those  involved  in  the  emotions  proper. 

Now,  when  some  experience  occurs  which  brings  about  a 
change  in  these  vital  processes  and  the  change  is  of  sufficient 
moment  to  be  taken  notice  of  in  consciousness,  it  is  regis- 
tered there  either  as  pleasant  or  unpleasant.  //  it  quickens, 
or  promotes  or  intensifies  a  vital  process  it  is  felt  as  pleas- 
ant; if  it  arrests  or  retards  or  represses  a  vital  process  it  is 
felt  as  unpleasant.  From  this  point  of  view  we  may  get  an 
idea  as  to  why  so  few,  comparatively,  of  our  experiences 
have  pure  or  unmixed  feeling-tones.  Let  us  suppose  that  a 
habit  represents  a  partial  arrest  of  an  organic  vital  process. 
The  indulgence  of  the  habit  will  give  pleasure;  but  it  will 
be  accompanied  by  a  more  or  less  vague  undertone  of  un- 
pleasantness ;  which  is  certain  to  be  the  case  unless  the  habit 
has  become  so  inveterate  as  to  cause  a  permanent  modifica- 
tion of  the  organic  process,  and  even  then  a  close  scrutiny  of 
consciousness  would  doubtless  discover  that  the  pleasure 
was  not  entirely  unmixed.  If  a  voluntary  activity  runs 
counter  to  an  organic  tendency,  the  unpleasantness  will 
likely  be  pronounced.  Often,  however,  an  acute  feeling  of 


78  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

unpleasantness  resulting  from  interference  with  a  vital 
process  of  the  organism  by  indulgence  of  a  pleasant  habit 
follows  rather  than  accompanies  the  disturbing  act.  The 
pleasure  afforded  by  the  indulgence  completely  drowns  out 
the  organic  protest  at  the  moment;  but  after  the  pleasure  is 
gone,  the  organism  reacts,  to  the  general  discomfort  of  the 
transgressor.  A  momentary  activity  which  runs  counter  to 
an  habitual  process  is  likewise  felt  as  decidedly  disagreeable, 
although  the  activity  may  be  such  as  to  give  great  pleasure 
by  reason  of  its  coincidence  with  some  other  tendency. 
The  feeling-tone  is  mixed.  Thus  by  reason  of  the  varying 
and  often  conflicting  influences  of  natural  vital  processes, 
habits  and  current  activities,  it  comes  to  pass  that  few  of  our 
experiences  are  without  mixed  feeling-tones.  However, 
our  feelings  are  so  variable,  and  usually  are  so  complicated 
and  blended,  so  difficult  to  follow  by  introspection  in  their 
manifold  transformations,  that  a  detailed  analysis  of  the 
physical  and  psychical  conditions  of  the  compound  feeling- 
tone  is  quite  impossible. 

But  it  is  of  great  practical  importance  to  bear  in  mind  that 
pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  simply  represent  the 
stimulation  and  the  arrest  of  the  vital  processes  characteris- 
tic of  the  actual  status  or  activity  of  the  organism  at  a  given 
time.  Feeling  has  an  indispensable  function  to  perform  in 
the  life  of  an  organism.  The  significance  of  that  function 
may  be  greatly  over-estimated  or  greatly  under-estimated; 
and  the  knowledge  is  not  of  more  importance  to  any  one 
than  to  him  who  undertakes  to  guide  the  development  of  the 
religious  life.  The  function  of  feeling  is,  first,  to  advertise, 
to  put  the  organism  on  notice  that  a  given  experience  either 
quickens  or  represses  subtile  vital  processes  going  on  in  it. 
In  the  second  place,  its  function  is  to  influence  action. 
There  is  never  any  action  —  that  is,  intelligent,  voluntary 
action  —  without  feeling.  To  be  without  feeling  is  to  be 
destitute  of  preferences,  values,  standards,  motives  —  to  be 
entirely  indifferent  to  all  possible  considerations  alike.  It  is 
apparent,  however,  that  while  feeling  plays  a  most  important 


FEELING  79 

role  in  life,  it  is  entirely  inadequate  as  a  guide  for  life.  That 
an  experience  gives  pleasure  means  nothing  more  than  that 
it  falls  in  with  some  present  vital  or  habitual  tendencies 
and  processes  of  the  organism ;  and  that  it  causes  unpleas- 
antness means  only  that  it  runs  counter  to  some  such  tend- 
encies and  processes.  Those  tendencies  and  processes  may 
need  to  be  encouraged  or  to  be  restrained,  judged  by  stand- 
ards established  in  universal  human  experience;  but  as  to 
this  the  present  feeling  can  give  no  trustworthy  verdict. 
Feeling  is  at  once  indispensable  and  inadequate  for  the 
proper  guidance  of  life. 

7.  The  relation  of  feeling  to  desire.  Desire  in  itself  is 
neither  a  pleasant  nor  an  unpleasant  state  of  consciousness, 
but  it  is  accompanied  by  a  compound  feeling-tone  in  which 
both  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  are  found.  Desire  is 
the  nisus,  the  conscious  reaching  or  straining  of  the  or- 
ganism toward  a  possible  situation  which  it  is  believed  would 
afford  more  satisfaction  than  the  actual  one.  On  the  one 
side  there  is  a  sense  of  discomfort  or  maladjustment  asso- 
ciated with  the  actual  situation ;  on  the  other  there  is  the 
mental  image  of  a  possible  situation  in  which  the  adjustment 
would  be  more  satisfactory,  and  this  mental  image  is  asso- 
ciated with  pleasure.  Sometimes  the  unpleasant  tone  is 
dominant  in  the  consciousness  of  desire  and  sometimes  the 
pleasant.  Two  conditions  determine  which  tone  is  domi- 
nant. It  depends  in  part  upon  the  vividness  of  the  image 
of  the  actual  situation  as  compared  with  the  vividness  of  the 
image  of  the  possible  situation.  If  the  former  is  more  vivid 
at  the  moment,  the  unpleasant  tone  predominates ;  if  the  lat- 
ter, the  pleasant  tone.  But  it  is  also  conditioned  by  the 
sense  of  the  possibility  of  the  anticipated  situation.  If  its 
possibility  is  strong  and  near,  that  tends  to  give  predom- 
inance to  the  pleasant  tone ;  if  weak  and  remote,  it  tends  to 
reduce  the  pleasant  tone.  If  the  sense  of  its  absolute  im- 
possibility possesses  the  consciousness,  the  desire  dies.  De- 
sire cannot  live  except  as  it  feeds  upon  the  possibility  of 
realizing  the  desirable  thing ;  the  possibility  must  be  believed 


80  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

in,  or  at  least  assumed  for  the  time  being.  As  the  possibility 
becomes  more  and  more  remote,  the  desire  becomes  weaker 
and  weaker,  fading  to  a  wish,  which  itself  can  live  only  as 
the  wished-for  object  is  thought  of  as  possible,  for  the  ob- 
vious reason  that  if  it  ceases  to  be  thought  of  as  possible  it 
will  cease  to  hold  the  serious  attention,  and  the  wish  will 
be  extinguished  as  a  feebly  burning  candle  when,  like  a 
snuffer,  the  sense  of  absolute  impossibility  settles  down  over 
it.  A  boy  who  has  a  disagreeable  task  desires  to  go  to  a 
ball  game.  His  attention  alternates  between  the  actual  dis- 
agreeable situation  and  the  contemplated  agreeable  one,  and 
his  heart  beats  faster  or  slower  as  now  one  and  now  the 
other  stands  at  the  focus  of  attention;  there  is  a  rapid 
change  in  the  predominant  tone  of  pleasantness  or  unpleas- 
antness in  his  mixed  feeling.  By  and  by  he  is  informed  by 
an  unrelenting  father  that  he  cannot  go ;  the  desire  fades  out 
into  a  wish  as  from  time  to  time  he  thinks  of  going  as  if  it 
were  possible,  until  at  last  his  mind  is  permanently  diverted 
from  it. 

Desire,  then,  is  characterized  by  a  difference  of  feeling- 
tones  connected  with  the  mental  representations  of  two 
situations,  one  actual  the  other  possible.  To  arouse  desire, 
therefore,  it  is  necessary  "  to  work  upon  the  feelings,"  to 
hold  before  the  mind  in  which  the  desire  is  sought  to  be 
awakened  a  possible  situation  which  promises  more  satis- 
faction than  the  present  one.  But  whether  the  portrayal 
of  a  possible  situation  will  promise  more  satisfaction  to  a 
given  mind  depends  upon  the  actual  organization  of  that 
mind.  It  must  fall  in  with,  quicken  or  promote  certain  vital 
processes  of  that  organism  which  are  more  central  or  at 
any  rate  more  dominant  in  it  than  the  organic  tendencies 
which  find  stimulation  in  the  actual  state  of  things.  For 
this  reason  it  is  apparent  that  in  the  effort  to  lift  men  to  a 
higher  moral  state  an  appeal  based  upon  the  emotion  of 
fear  is  often  justifiable.  It  creates  dissatisfaction  with  the 
actual  moral  status,  but  does  not  arouse  a  desire  for  a  higher 
status  per  se.  It  creates  a  desire  to  break  with  evil  habits 


FEELING  8l 

because  the  final  results  of  vice,  foreseen  as  a  certain  future 
situation,  outweigh  in  unpleasantness  the  pleasure  of  in- 
dulgence and  are  more  disagreeable  than  the  practice  of 
virtue.  While  justifiable,  therefore,  in  dealing  with  persons 
of  low  moral  development,  its  immediate  results  are  only 
negative;  and,  as  negative  in  results,  the  appeal  to  fear  is 
of  little  permanent  value  except  as  it  may  open  the  way  for  a 
subsequent  effective  appeal  to  a  different  class  of  feelings. 
However,  often  when  dissatisfaction  with  the  evil  moral 
status  has  been  produced,  a  proper  representation  of  virtue 
may  awaken  desire  for  it  on  its  own  account;  because  it 
may  be  so  represented  as  to  fall  in  with  certain  tendencies 
and  processes,  which,  though  they  may  be  inhibited  or  sup- 
pressed by  the  opposite  tendencies  that  have  been  greatly 
strengthened  by  bad  habits,  seem  never  to  be  wholly  ex- 
tirpated from  the  normal  human  being.  But  it  is  quite  pos- 
sible to  paint  virtue  in  such  colours  as  to  make  it  repulsive,  or 
at  least  unattractive.  The  ideal  which  charms  the  soul  of  a 
saint  is  without  any  effective  appeal  to  the  average  man  of 
the  world.  The  contemplation  of  it  will  arouse  in  him  no 
pleasure ;  or  if  it  starts  a  faint  echo  of  pleasant  emotion,  it 
is  apt  to  impress  him  with  a  sense  of  impossibility  which  kills 
desire.  This  phase  of  experience  will  be  considered  more 
at  length  in  another  chapter;  our  purpose  here  is  to  em- 
phasize the  fact  that  feeling  lies  at  the  basis  of  desire  and 
that  feeling  has  its  basis  in  the  vital  organization  as  given 
at  birth  and  modified  by  subsequent  experience. 

8.  Feeling  and  habit.  It  is  of  great  practical  impor- 
tance to  note  the  effect  upon  feeling  of  the  repetition  of 
any  experience.  In  general  the  effect  tends  to  diminish  with 
repetition,  and  this  tendency  is  marked  when  the  repetition 
occurs  at  regular  intervals.  One  "  becomes  used  to  it,"  in 
common  parlance.  The  organism  ever  tends  to  adapt  itself 
to  its  environment.  Strictly  speaking,  the  organism  comes 
by  degrees  to  be  permanently  modified  by  the  repeated  ex- 
perience, a  vital  habit  grows  up  corresponding  to  that  ex- 
perience ;  its  occurrence  ceases  by  degrees  to  be  recorded  in 


82  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

consciousness  and  therefore  to  call  forth  less  and  less  feel- 
ing; and  after  a  while  its  cessation  will  call  forth  an  un- 
pleasant feeling-tone.  In  this  way  an  acquired  taste  is 
formed  and  a  craving  for  a  certain  kind  of  stimulus.  One's 
daily  life  affords  so  many  confirmations  of  the  statement 
that  it  needs  no  demonstration. 

But  daily  experience  also  presents  certain  facts  which  do 
not  seem  to  conform  to  this  law,  and  which  require  explana- 
tion. On  examination  they  appear  to  be  only  apparent 
exceptions.  For  instance,  one  may  be  so  situated  that  he 
hears  a  noise  repeated  at  intervals.  At  first  it  may  excite 
very  little  feeling  at  all ;  but  its  repetition  attracts  attention, 
and,  as  the  attention  is  directed  towards  it,  becomes  increas- 
ingly pleasant  or  unpleasant,  as  the  case  may  be.  By  reason 
of  the  direction  of  the  attention  to  it  the  sensibility  of  the 
organism  to  that  particular  sound  is  heightened  for  a  time 
and  the  pleasure  or  displeasure  which  it  causes  grows 
greater  with  repetition  during  that  time.  In  this  way  a 
morbid  state  of  extreme  sensibility  may  be  induced,  and  a 
noise  (or  any  other  stimulus)  which  at  first  was  practically 
indifferent  may  come  to  excite  a  high  degree  of  feeling.  It 
constitutes,  however,  only  an  apparent  exception  to  the  law 
of  adaptation  stated  above.  The  repetition  produces  more 
intense  feeling  for  a  time  only  because  on  account  of  the 
special  conditions  the  normal  sensibility  of  the  organism  to 
that  stimulus  is  temporarily  increased ;  and  all  the  while  the 
law  of  adaptation  has  been  operating,  and  when  the  special 
causes  which  produced  the  abnormal  sensibility  have  ceased 
to  operate,  it  will  be  found  that  the  feeling  response  to  that 
experience  will  be  less  in  proportion  to  the  number  of  times 
it  has  been  repeated.  Habit  has  supervened,  and  in  order 
to  secure  a  feeling  response  equal  to  the  first  one  it  is  neces- 
sary to  increase  the  strength  of  the  stimulus  about  in  propor- 
tion to  the  number  of  repetitions.  Exactly  what  the  ratio 
is  experimental  Psychology  has  not  been  able  to  state  with 
precision.  It  seems  that  the  strength  of  the  stimulus  must 
be  increased  in  something  like  geometrical  ratio.  This  is 


FEELING  83 

a  fact  of  transcendant  importance  to  those  whose  special 
occupation  it  is  to  persuade  men  to  action,  which  of  neces- 
sity involves  appeals  to  the  feelings. 

How  often  does  the  preacher  find  his  congregation  grow- 
ing more  unresponsive  to  an  appeal  which  once  was  effec- 
tive with  them !  And  this  explains  why  it  is  that  he  so  often 
finds  it  necessary  to  employ  other  means  for  the  purpose  of 
inducing  in  his  hearers  a  heightened  state  of  susceptibility 
to  an  old  appeal  in  order  to  secure  a  response  which  afore- 
time came  so  readily.  How  often  does  the  politician  find 
his  audiences  listening  with  increasing  coldness  to  phrases 
and  slogans  which  once  seemed  to  open  as  by  magic  the 
flood-gates  of  political  passion !  In  such  cases  the  preacher 
and  the  politician  may  not  realize  how  effectively  the  law 
of  adaptation  has  been  at  work  in  their  own  souls  also ;  are 
not  aware  that  the  same  series  of  ideas  which  they  are  re- 
peating to  less  responsive  hearers  no  longer  evoke  in  their 
own  hearts  the  same  sincerity  and  depth  of  feeling.  From 
this  point  of  view  we  may  understand  better  the  causes 
which  are  impelling  so  many  preachers,  especially  evangel- 
ists, to  the  employment  of  "  sensational  "  methods.  These 
adventitious  and  sometimes  questionable  devices  may  serve 
the  purpose  of  inducing  for  the  time  being  a  heightened  sen- 
sibility to  worn-out  appeals  to  feeling,  but  the  law  of  adap- 
tation cannot  be  successfully  evaded,  as  the  extraordinary 
unresponsiveness  of  people  who  have  been  often  influenced 
by  these  methods  abundantly  shows ;  and  the  constant  em- 
ployment of  such  means  of  inducing  temporary  sensibility 
only  makes  more  precipitous  the  way  that  leads  down  to 
absolute  insensibility. 

9.  The  strength  of  the  stimulus  as  related  to  the  feel- 
ing-tone, (i)  It  takes  a  stimulus  of  a  certain  strength  to 
awaken  consciousness  at  all;  and  persons  differ  in  this  re- 
spect as  to  different  stimuli.  But  after  a  stimulus  has 
passed  the  threshold  of  consciousness,  its  strength  deter- 
mines the  character  of  the  feeling-tone  it  awakens.  (2)  A 
stimulus  of  a  certain  strength  may  awaken  a  pleasant  feel- 


84  PSYCHOLOGY   AND  PREACHING 

ing-tone,  but  if  increased  beyond  a  certain  point  it  will  pro- 
duce unpleasantness,  because  it  then  becomes  obstructive  of 
vital  processes,  disturbing  and  disorganizing  in  tendency. 
(3)  And  there  is  a  point  beyond  which  an  emotion,  pleasant 
or  unpleasant,  will  produce  unconsciousness,  because  it  over- 
taxes the  power  of  the  organism,  exhausts  the  vital  energy 
of  the  nervous  system,  or  of  those  parts  of  it  which  are 
directly  involved.  (4)  Strong  emotion  of  any  kind  involves 
a  rapid  consumption  of  nervous  energy;  and  after  it  has 
passed  leaves  the  organism  apathetic.  If  the  exhaustion  has 
been  profound  and  general  —  and  this,  of  course,  is  more 
likely  to  result  from  excessive  unpleasant  emotion  —  the 
organism  will  fall  into  a  state  of  indifference  to  all  stimuli. 
There  will  be  for  a  time  a  general  incapacity  for  feeling  of 
any  kind.  (5)  If  the  exhaustion  has  been  partial,  involving 
only  certain  parts  of  the  nervous  system  or  certain  vital 
processes,  there  is  likely  to  be  for  a  time  an  apathetic  unre- 
sponsiveness  to  the  particlar  class  of  stimuli  which  called 
forth  the  excessive  emotion  and  also  to  those  of  the  same 
general  tendency ;  but  there  may  be  an  abnormal  responsive- 
ness to  stimuli  of  the  opposite  type.  A  period  of  excessive 
joy  is  almost  certain  to  be  followed  by  a  period  of  depres- 
sion in  which  there  will  be  an  unusual  sensibility  to  all  sug- 
gestions of  unhappiness  and  sorrow.  A  period  of  optimism 
in  business  has  its  inevitable  sequence  of  pessimism  or  of 
panic.  A  period  of  extreme  exaltation  of  the  religious  feel- 
ings will  be  followed  by  a  time  of  indifference  or  of  laxity, 
of  unbelief  or  worldliness,  as  surely  as  the  night  follows 
the  day.  (6)  Indeed,  the  indulgence  of  excessive  emotions 
is  most  demoralizing,  no  matter  what  interest  arouses  them. 
It  tends  towards  the  disorganization  of  the  personality,  and 
is  altogether  inconsistent  with  the  development  of  a  high 
type  of  character.  In  politics  it  is  a  great  hindrance  to  the 
development  of  a  high  and  stable  social  order.  In  religion 
it  is  no  less  injurious  than  in  other  spheres  of  life;  it  is 
inconsistent  with  the  attainment  of  the  high  ethical  aims  of 
Christianity.  It  is  noteworthy  that  politics  and  religion  are 


FEELING  85 

the  two  spheres  in  which  this  demoralization  is  most  likely 
to  appear,  because  one's  political  and  religious  convictions 
and  ideals  are  so  personal  and  subjective,  so  thoroughly 
steeped  in  feeling.  In  those  spheres,  and  particularly  in  re- 
ligion, the  feelings  are  of  fundamental  importance,  but  for 
that  very  reason  are  sources  of  immeasurable  danger.  In 
normal  conditions  moderate  feelings  are  always  to  be  pre- 
ferred. They  are  more  healthy ;  the  reaction  is  never  severe 
or  dangerous.  The  arousing  of  abnormally  high  emotion 
is  never  justifiable  except  in  dealing  with  abnormal  condi- 
tions, and  should  then  be  regarded  as  a  temporary  expedient 
to  be  discontinued  as  soon  as  normal  conditions  can  be  re- 
stored. The  preachers  who  aim  at  high  emotional  effects, 
as  being  in  themselves  valuable,  should  be  apprised  of  the 
fact  that  such  demonstrations  result  as  a  rule  only  in  weak- 
ening the  foundations  of  moral  order  in  society  by  derang- 
ing the  mental  organization  of  the  individuals  who  are  the 
subjects  of  their  exploits. 

In  saying  this  there  is  no  intention  to  discount  the  import- 
ance of  feeling.  On  the  contrary,  that  function  is  of  prime 
importance  as  a  guide  in  the  adjustment  of  the  organism  to 
its  environment,  but  manifestly  it  is  not  of  itself  sufficient 
for  this  purpose.  Feeling  announces  a  present  fact,  it  does 
not  look  ahead.  Grant  Allen's  statement  — "  neither  pleas- 
ure nor  pain  is  prophetic  " —  is  a  most  important  truth. 
Only  in  the  simplest  possible  situation,  only  in  a  matter  of 
immediate  and  momentary  interest,  is  feeling  by  itself  a 
safe  guide  for  action.  As  life  conditions  become  more  com- 
plex, as  the  ends  of  activity  become  higher  and  more  re- 
mote, as  the  series  of  means  to  ends  grow  longer  and  more 
complicated,  it  becomes  increasingly  necessary  that  emotion 
be  controlled  and  directed,  that  it  may  not  lead  to  the  de- 
struction rather  than  the  promotion  of  the  life.  Control 
and  direction  are  functions  of  the  rational  powers.  As  long 
as  emotion  remains  under  the  control  and  direction  of  the 
reason  it  is  not  excessive,  no  matter  how  intense  and  strong 
it  may  be ;  and  it  clearly  depends  upon  the  strength  and  sta- 


86  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

bility  of  the  controlling  faculty  whether  a  stimulus  of  a 
given  strength  will  awaken  an  uncontrollable  emotion  or  not. 
The  point  at  which  an  emotion  of  a  given  strength  will 
break  the  leash  of  reason  is  not  the  same  in  all  persons. 
For  one  person,  therefore,  a  stimulation  of  a  given  strength 
may  be  excessive,  and  for  another  not. 

In  religion  especially  the  emotions  should  not  run  wild, 
but  should  be  kept  under  control  of  reason.  In  that  sphere 
one  has  to  do  with  very  powerful  emotions  which  spring 
from  the  fundamental  instincts;  the  conditions  under  which 
those  emotions  must  determine  action  are  extremely  com- 
plex, comprehending  all  the  more  obscure  as  well  as  all  the 
more  obvious  factors  of  one's  total  life-situation;  the  end 
towards  which  it  is  their  function  to  impel  is  the  highest 
and  most  remote  of  our  existence,  viz. :  the  attainment  of 
ultimate  individual  perfection  in  harmony  with  the  uni- 
verse. In  a  word,  religion  is  the  supreme,  most  complicated 
and  far-reaching  problem  of  life.  If  in  the  ordinary  tasks 
of  every-day  life  emotions  which  are  less  deeply  rooted  in 
the  foundations  of  personality  and  which  work  in  a  limited 
set  of  conditions,  towards  the  attainment  of  proximate  and 
secondary  ends  need  to  be  directed  and  controlled  by  intel- 
ligence in  order  to  avoid  disaster,  how  much  more  should 
reason  be  kept  firmly  regnant  in  its  directive  function  in 
religion  ? 

10.  Intelligence  and  the  enrichment  of  the  emotional  life. 
Besides  the  general  effect  of  intensifying  the  feeling-tones, 
as  above  suggested,  growing  intelligence  has  other  important 
effects  upon  the  character  of  the  feelings. 

In  the  first  place,  the  wider  the  range  of  ideas  the  more 
numerous  are  the  available  stimuli  which  produce  feeling, 
and  the  richer,  therefore,  becomes  the  emotional  life.  It  is 
not  alone  one's  perceptions  or  immediate  experiences  which 
arouse  emotion.  In  mental  images,  ideas,  there  is  available 
a  store  of  representative  experiences,  each  with  its  appro- 
priate emotional  colouring,  which  is  limited  only  by  the  ex- 
tent, variety  and  clearness  of  one's  knowledge  and  the  con- 


FEELING  87 

structive  power  of  one's  imagination.  It  is  true  that  ordi- 
narily the  primary  sensational  experiences  evoke  a  keener 
feeling  than  the  images,  the  secondary  and  representative 
experiences ;  but  this  is  not  by  any  means  always  the  case. 
In  any  case  the  advantage  is  all  with  the  person  who  pos- 
sesses a  wealth  of  ideas.  His  primary  experiences  will  not 
be  the  fewer  on  account  of  his  intellectual  culture ;  and  the 
higher  organization  of  the  mind  which  is  developed  in  the 
building  up  of  an  extensive  system  of  ideas  implies  the  in- 
creasing activity  of  those  inhibitive  processes  which  are  the 
condition  of  more  intense  feeling-tones  in  these  experiences. 
In  addition,  the  numerous  mental  images  at  the  disposal  of 
his  memory  and  imagination  afford  the  opportunity  for  a 
correspondingly  large  number  of  emotional  experiences, 
which  may  be  of  moderate  or  strong  intensity  according  to 
conditions.  The  practical  value  of  this  resource  for  the  en- 
richment of  the  life  of  feeling  is  incalculable.  We  have  but 
to  recall  John  Bunyan  in  the  Bedford  jail  to  realize  how, 
even  with  a  comparatively  limited  range  of  ideas,  a  vivid  and 
constructive  imagination  could  convert  a  filthy  dungeon  life 
into  a  pilgrim's  march  to  glory.  The  invalid  shut  up  within 
four  walls  with  no  out-look  upon  the  world  save  that  af- 
forded by  the  window-casement,  may  yet  by  means  of 
abundant  knowledge  live  a  life  of  infinitely  more  varied 
emotional  interest  than  the  most  busy  participant  in  the 
world's  activity,  if  the  latter's  mind  is  an  ignorant  waste, 
barren  of  ideas.  It  is,  perhaps,  the  saddest  of  the  many  sad 
penalties  of  ignorance  that  it  restricts  so  narrowly  the  range 
of  emotional  stimuli  and  thus  limits  so  disastrously  the 
interest  of  life.  Life  becomes,  comparatively  speaking,  a 
Sahara  of  meaningless  routine,  with  only  here  and  there  a 
bubbling  spring  of  feeling  in  the  midst  of  a  narrow  oasis  of 
palms.  A  great  thinker  picks  up  a  pebble  on  the  beach, 
and  as  he  examines  it  trains  of  ideas  are  started  which  lead 
him  to  exclaim  in  a  transport  of  holy  joy,  "  O  God,  I  think 
thy  thoughts  after  thee !  "  The  ignoramus  treads  that  peb- 
ble under  his  feet  without  a  remote  suggestion  of  an  emo- 


88  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

tional  thrill.  A  group  stand  upon  the  mountain  brow  gazing 
at  the  sunset.  The  souls  of  some  of  them  are  borne  away 
on  a  deep  tide  of  aesthetic  and  religious  emotions ;  others  of 
them  chatter,  or  giggle,  or  blink  stupidly  at  the  glory.  This 
poverty  of  emotional  experience  entailed  by  ignorance  is  no- 
where more  evident  or  more  lamentable  than  in  the  relig- 
ious life.  If  general  culture  had  no  other  advantage  for  the 
religious  character,  there  would  be  ample  justification  of 
the  demand  for  education  in  the  extension  which  it  affords 
of  the  possible  range  of  stimuli  for  the  religious  feelings. 

In  the  second  place,  culture  involves  a  general  elevation  of 
the  feelings,  though  this  depends,  of  course,  on  the  char- 
acter of  the  culture,  i.e.,  upon  the  content  of  the  mental 
system  and  the  habits  of  mental  activity  formed  in  its  devel- 
opment. Tichenor  says,  "  Affection  depends  primarily  upon 
the  total  disposition  or  arrangement  of  consciousness,"  1  and 
Angell  remarks,  "  Emotions  are  not  dependent  upon  bodily 
conditions  alone  for  a  soil  favourable  to  their  development. 
.  .  .  But  another  circumstance  must  be  added,  if  we  are  to 
include  all  the  conditioning  factors.  This  additional  con- 
sideration is  found  in  trains  of  ideas  which  possess  our  con- 
sciousness at  any  moment,  and  particularly  in  those  general 
habits  of  thought  and  reflection  which  characterize  our  more 
distinctly  intellectual  life."  2  It  is  clear,  then,  that  a  high 
degree  of  culture  must  profoundly  modify  our  emotional 
life,  not  only  in  the  way  of  intensifying  its  salient  incidents 
and  in  the  multiplication  of  available  emotional  stimuli,  but 
in  the  elevation  of  the  feelings ;  for  culture  is  the  process  of 
developing  the  organism  into  a  higher  and  more  complex 
organization  in  which  it  becomes  more  variously  responsive 
to  its  environment,  and  at  the  same  time  responsive,  not  only 
to  its  crude  physical,  but  also  to  its  ideal  factors.  For  we 
must  remember  that  the  environment  of  a  human  being  is 
not  simply  the  limited,  bare,  crude  world  which  we  immedi- 
ately come  in  contact  with  through  the  bodily  senses  and  to 

1 "  Text  Book  of  Psychology,"  p.  258. 
2  "  Psychology,"  p.  336. 


FEELING  89 

which  the  reflexes  and  instincts  give  us  our  primary  adapta- 
tion; but  it  is  the  universe  as  it  has  been  penetrated,  ex- 
plored, investigated,  organized  and  interpreted  by  the  col- 
lective activity  of  men  throughout  the  ages.  The  ignorant 
man's  mental  organization  correlates  him  only  with  the 
cruder,  more  obvious  and  sensuously  insistent  elements  of 
this  universe,  and  his  emotional  life  must  be  of  a  correspond- 
ing order.  The  mental  organization  of  the  cultured  man 
correlates  him,  according  to  the  grade  of  his  culture,  with 
a  broader  realm  of  that  universe  and  with  aspects  of  it  that 
do  not  so  immediately  force  themselves  on  the  senses  — 
with  the  achievements  of  men  in  modifying  its  crude  ele- 
ments to  serve  their  practical  and  ideal  ends,  with  the  higher 
and  fine  interpretations  of  it  which  have  been  given  by  the 
thinkers,  seers,  poets  and  saints  of  the  human  race.  Mani- 
festly the  stimulus  which  perhaps  awakens  in  the  mind  no 
emotional  response  at  all  or  only  an  immediate  and  spas- 
modic motor  reaction  attended  with  little  thought  and  a  low 
intensity  of  feeling-tone,  may  evoke  in  a  man  of  culture  a 
long  series  of  ideas  to  which  his  soul  responds  in  an  equally 
long  series  of  feeling-tones,  like  a  great  organ  under  the  hand 
of  a  master  of  harmonies.  There  is  as  much  difference 
between  the  emotional  life  of  a  man  of  high  culture  and  that 
of  the  rustic  as  between  the  harmonies  that  may  be  evoked 
from  a  modern  grand  pianoforte  and  the  rude  melodies 
struck  from  the  ancient  dulcimer.  Ribot  says  that  "  a  sav- 
age, even  a  barbarian,  is  not  moved  by  the  splendours  of^  civ- 
ilized life,  but  only  by  its  petty  and  puerile  sides."  x  The 
mental  system  of  the  savage  is  so  poor  in  content  and  so  low 
in  organization  that  the  most  glorious  achievements  of  civil- 
ization, its  social  institutions,  its  sciences,  arts,  philosophies, 
religions,  call  forth  in  him  no  ideational  and,  therefore,  no 
emotional  response,  not  even  a  healthy  and  stimulating 
wonder;  and  among  the  denizens  of  this  civilization  there 
are  variations  in  emotional  capacity,  based  upon  the  gra- 
dations of  mental  organization,  which,  without  great  exag- 

1 "  The  Psychology  of  the  Emotions,"  p.  190. 


90  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

geration,  may  be  said  to  lie  all  the  way  between  the  zenith 
and  the  nadir  of  the  universe  of  feeling. 

ii.  But  what  bearing  have  these  general  truths  upon  the 
practical  problems  in  which  we  are  especially  interested? 

(i)  As  already  hinted,  they  give  a  mighty  emphasis  to 
the  value  of  culture  in  religious  life.  In  the  first  place, 
especially  is  this  true  with  reference  to  the  preacher  him- 
self. The  lack  of  culture  in  the  pulpit  may  not  be  fatal  to 
a  certain  effectiveness.  The  man  of  low  mental  organiza- 
tion is  able  to  move  his  hearers  of  the  same  mental  grade 
along  the  level  of  his  own  emotional  life ;  but  the  poverty 
of  his  emotional  life  leaves  him  but  poorly  equipped  for  the 
very  important  task  of  developing  in  them  higher  and  finer 
types  of  religious  experience.  Moreover,  it  leaves  him  in 
large  measure  insulated  from  the  large  and  growing  com- 
munity of  cultured  minds,  who  often  are  in  sad  need  of 
religious  inspiration.  The  crudeness  of  his  emotional  life 
repels  them.  To  a  large  extent  he  is  incapacitated  to  be- 
come their  religious  inspirer  and  guide.  He  lacks  the  ability 
to  lead  those  on  the  lower  levels  towards  the  upper  alti- 
tudes of  the  religious  experience,  and  also  the  ability  to  lead 
those  of  higher  culture  to  their  appropriate  service  of  the 
uncultivated.  In  the  largest  sense  of  that  noble  word,  his 
pastoral  function  is  in  the  main  a  failure ;  for  to  be  a  "  pas- 
tor "  surely  means  something  more  than  to  be  an  adminis- 
trator of  the  machinery  of  the  church  organization  and  a 
kindly  visitor  in  the  homes  of  the  people.  It  means  to  be 
a  feeder  of  the  people,  an  inspirational  force  in  their  lives,  to 
develop  as  far  as  possible  the  whole  range  of  their  emotional 
capacities,  and  especially  to  organize  their  entire  emotional 
life  around  the  great  truths  of  religious  faith  and  to  harness 
these  dynamic  factors  in  suitable  ways  to  the  inspiring  task 
of  Christianity  —  the  building  of  a  social  order  of  which 
mutual  service  in  self-realization  shall  be  the  organic  prin- 
ciple. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  consider  the  matter  from  the 
point  of  view  of  his  own  personality,  this  sad  limitation  of 


FEELING  QI 

his  effectiveness  in  his  proper  function  is  evidence  of  the 
fact  that  his  own  religious  life  is  poor,  barren  and  destitute 
of  the  spiritual  riches  that  might  be  his ;  for,  looked  at  sub- 
jectively, spiritual  values  consist  in  the  emotional  realiza- 
tion of  spiritual  verities. 

(2)  While  culture  lifts  the  religious  feelings  to  higher 
levels,  it  contributes  also  another  important  advantage.  It 
tends  to  bring  about  a  more  even,  regular,  continuous  flow 
of  the  feelings  in  general.  In  a  man  of  low  mental  organ- 
ization life  tends  to  differentiate  into  two  clearly  marked 
types  of  experience.  On  the  one  hand,  his  ordinary  re- 
actions are  on  the  habitual  plane,  and  are  attended  by  states 
of  dim  and  diffused  consciousness.  His  daily  life  is  a 
monotonous  series  of  actions  controlled  for  the  most  part 
by  simple  reflexes,  instincts  and  habits.  On  the  other  hand, 
his  emotional  life  is  likely  to  be  in  strong  contrast  with 
this  habitual  regularity,  i.e.,  to  be  of  the  discontinuous, 
ebullient  type.  As  a  whole  his  life  will  be  characterized 
by  stretches  of  dreary,  feelingless  monotony  punctuated 
at  irregular  intervals  by  outbursts  of  excessive  emotional 
manifestation,  attended  by  what,  in  comparison  with  his 
ordinary  experiences,  may  be  called  intense  states  of  con- 
sciousness. This  is  certainly  true  of  the  religious  life 
of  this  class  of  people.  In  the  man  of  culture,  on 
the  contrary,  reflexes,  instincts  and  habits  play  a  large 
role,  indeed ;  but  in  his  ordinary  activities  these  unconscious 
or  partially  conscious  controls  of  conduct  are  not  nearly 
so  dominant.  To  a  far  greater  extent  they  are  in  him  modi- 
fied by  the  rational  processes.  And  while  his  ordinary 
reactions  are  thus  lifted  in  large  measure  above  the  merely 
habitual  plane,  his  emotional  life  tends  to  move  with  fewer 
violent  variations  or  fluctuations  along  a  general  level. 
Other  things  equal,  he  is  less  spasmodic  in  his  feelings. 
The  very  multiplicity  and  variety  of  the  emotional  stimuli 
which  play  their  part  in  his  experience  conduce  to  this  result, 
and  so  does  the  higher  complexity  of  his  mental  organiza- 
tion with  its  mutually  inhibiting  motor  tendencies.  These 


92  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

numerous  and  various  stimuli  acting  continually  upon  or 
within  the  organism  translate  themselves  into  feelings  of 
many  shades  and  intensities ;  and  connected  with  these  feel- 
ings are  motives  which  afford  more  frequent  and  regular 
impulsions  to  action.  The  result  is  more  constancy  of 
rational  activity  in  the  sphere  of  life  in  which  these  feel- 
ings manifest  themselves.  ,  We  may  expect,  therefore,  that 
in  the  sphere  of  religion  culture  will  contribute  to  steadi- 
ness, continuity,  orderliness  of  religious  life,  without  reduc- 
ing it  to  the  mere  routine  of  formalism.  Indeed  it  will  not 
subtract  from,  but  rather  enhance  its  total  emotional  rich- 
ness. Other  things  being  equal,  the  higher  the  culture-  the 
fewer  and  shorter  will  be  the  periods  of  spiritual  dulness 
or  stupor;  the  more  uninterrupted  will  be  the  movement 
toward  the  realization  of  spiritual,  ideals.  By  the  man  of 
lower  mental  grade  this  undemonstrative  continuity  in  the 
processes  of  the  religious  life  may  be  misinterpreted  as  a 
lack  of  feeling,  for  the  thoughtless  are  in  the  habit  of 
measuring  the  feeling,  the  purely  conscious  side  of  emotion, 
solely  by  the  quantity  of  the  external  motor  exhibition. 
But  we  have  seen  the  error  involved  in  this  standard  of  judg- 
ment. Spiritual  frost  does  not  settle  upon  the  higher  alti- 
tudes as  frequently  as  upon  the  lowlands  of  life,  reversing 
the  order  of  physical  nature.  Upon  the  mountain  tops  of 
human  development  there  is  more  of  warmth,  as  well  as  of 
purity  of  air,  than  in  the  coves  and  valleys. 

It  is  easy  for  us  to  see  from  this  point  of  view  how 
intimately  the  development  of  religion  in  general  is  bound 
up  with  the  progress  of  a  broad,  high  and  rounded  culture. 
To  be  sure,  there  are  types  of  culture  which  obstruct  the 
development  of  religious  life.  Such  types  are  one-sided 
and  develop  certain  mental  functions  while  they  leave  others 
neglected  or  atrophied,  or  even  positively  repress  them.  It 
is  probably  true,  indeed,  that  any  partial  or  fractional  cul- 
ture, even  that  which  singles  out  the  distinctively  religious 
functions  for  exclusive  emphasis,  will  result  in  an  abnormal 
and,  therefore,  undesirable  religious  development.  It  is  the 


FEELING  93 

culture  which  develops  the  entire  range  of  human  capacities 
that  brings  the  religious  life  to  its  highest  fruition.  In  a 
word,  the  realization  of  the  highest  possible  type  of  religious 
character  will  coincide  with  the  realization  of  a  perfect 
humanity.  The  promotion  of  a  rounded  and  balanced  cul- 
ture is;  therefore,  a  most  important  function  of  the  pulpit. 


CHAPTER  V 

SENTIMENTS   AND  IDEALS 

WE  are  now  in  a  position  to  discuss  sentiments  and  ideals, 
matters  of  supreme  importance  to  all  public  speakers,  and 
especially  to  preachers,  because  they  figure  so  largely  in  the 
religious  life.  They  are  here  discussed  together,  because, 
though  quite  distinct,  they  have  so  much  in  common. 

I.    We  shall  consider,  first,  the  sentiments. 

i.  As  to  the  definition.  To  Mr.  Alexander  F.  Shand, 
an  eminent  English  psychologist,  is  due  the  credit  of  having 
first  pointed  out  the  important  fact  that,  with  the  develop- 
ment of  personality,  the  emotions  are  organized  into  sys- 
tems. These  systems,  into  which  the  primary  emotions  are 
organized,  he  calls  sentiments.1  Following  Shand,  Mc- 
Dougall  defines  a  sentiment  as  "  an  organized  system  of 
emotional  tendencies  centered  about  some  object."  2  It  is 
an  obvious  fact  that  as  a  personality  develops  it  acquires 
more  or  less  permanent  and  definite  emotional  attitudes 
towards  various  objects.  The  objects  may  be  material 
things,  animals,  persons,  groups  of  persons,  institutions,  or 
abstract  principles.  For  example,  one  is  almost  certain  to 
acquire  a  definite  and  more  or  less  permanent  emotional 
attitude  towards  a  house  in  which  he  has  lived ;  or  a  dog 
which  he  owns ;  or  his  mother,  father,  wife,  child,  friend,  or 
enemy,  etc.;  or  a  particular  city,  state,  nation,  school, 
church,  etc.,  or  the  principles  of  truth,  justice,  benevolence, 
selfishness,  etc.  When  he  sees  such  an  object,  or  the  mental 
image  of  it  comes  into  his  mind,  certain  feelings  are  aroused, 
either  incipiently  or  in  power.  The  tendency  is  always  pres- 

1  See  especially  "  The  Foundations  of  Character,"  pp.  24-63. 
3 "An  Introduction  to  Social  Psychology,"  p.  122. 

94 


SENTIMENTS   AND   IDEALS  95 

ent.  These  emotional  attitudes  or  tendencies,  when  devel- 
oped into  actual  feelings  may  take  a  great  many  forms  ac- 
cording to  circumstances.  For  instance,  if  my  favourite  dog 
is  hurt,  I  feel  pity  for  the  animal  and,  perhaps,  anger  towards 
the  person  who  injured  it.  If  my  mother  is  absent,  I  feel  a 
longing  for  her;  if  she  is  in  danger,  the  emotion  of  fear 
is  aroused  in  me;  if  she  has  died,  to  my  longing  is  added 
deep  grief.  Likewise  if  one  has  acquired  a  strong  love  of 
justice  and  sees  it  violated,  sympathy  is  aroused  for  the  vic- 
tim of  it  and  anger,  or  the  moral  form  of  it,  indignation,  for 
the  perpetrator.  These  hypothetical  examples  are  sufficient 
to  make  it  apparent  that  the  sentiment  controls  the  primary 
emotions.  It  is  not  a  feeling,  but  a  disposition,  a  tendency 
to  have  certain  feelings  with  respect  to  certain  objects,  ac- 
cording to  circumstances. 

2.  Classification  of  sentiments.  Sentiments  may  be  clas- 
sified according  to  the  kinds  of  objects  around  which  the 
emotional  dispositions  are  organized,  or  according  to  the 
moral  import  of  the  reactions  which  they  call  forth. 

(i)  According  to  the  first  principle  of  classification  we 
have  concrete  or  particular,  and  abstract  or  general  senti- 
ments. The  concrete  sentiments  may,  as  intimated  in  the 
preceding  paragraph,  be  classified  as  those  organized  around 
(a)  inanimate  things,  (b)  living  beings  below  the  human 
level,  (c)  individual  persons,  either  the  self  or  other  selves, 
(d)  groups  of  persons,  (e)  individual  institutions.  Among 
abstract  sentiments  are,  first  of  all,  the  emotional  disposi- 
tions organized  about  generic  institutions,  using  the  term  in 
a  broad  and  somewhat  indefinite  sense  —  as,  for  instance, 
the  Church  considered  not  as  any  particular  denomination 
or  local  body,  but  as  organized  Christianity ;  or  the  State  — 
not  any  special  state,  but  organized  political  society;  or 
Law  —  meaning  not  any  specific  law  or  code,  but  the  formu- 
lated public  will;  or  the  Family  —  having  reference  not  to 
any  particular  family,  but  to  the  organization  of  human 
beings  on  the  basis  of  marital  union ;  or  Property  —  not  any 
one's  personal  possessions,  but  the  social  institution;  and 


96  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

so  on.  A  second  class  of  abstract  sentiments  are  those 
which  have  as  their  objects  broad  general  principles  of  truth, 
or  of  conduct,  or  qualities  of  character.  The  well  developed 
man  has  sentiments  with  respect  to  fair  play,  justice,  cour- 
age, liberty,  veracity,  etc.,  and  with  respect  to  their  oppo- 
sites.  A  person  without  such  sentiments  is  a  moral  inverte- 
brate, i.e.,  he  is  on  a  low  plane  of  moral  development. 

Now  if  we  analyse  the  sentiments  which  seem  to  be  or- 
ganized around  concrete  objects,  it  will  appear  that  many 
of  them  are  really  much  more  complex  than  they  at  first 
appear.  For  instance,  one's  sentiment  for  a  particular 
house  is  quite  likely  to  grow  largely  out  of  the  human  asso- 
ciations that  cluster  about  it.  One's  feeling  for  an  animal 
may  be  due  to  the  fact  that  it  has  long  been  a  pet  in  the 
household  and  recalls  more  or  less  distinct  memories  con- 
nected therewith.  One's  sentiment  for  a  person  may  be 
organized  not  so  much  about  his  concrete  individuality,  per 
se,  as  around  the  principles  he  has  stood  for,  the  causes  with 
which  he  has  identified  himself,  his  achievements  —  that  is, 
about  the  social  meaning  of  his  personality.  George  Wash- 
ington was  and  is  "  first  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen," 
not  because  they  have  had  immediate  personal  contact  with 
him  and  love  him  for  his  simple  individuality,  and  not  alto- 
gether because  they  have  come  to  know  and  love  his  indi- 
viduality through  historical  acquaintance  with  him,  but  be- 
cause he  fought  and  suffered  for  his  country's  liberty  and 
was  the  chief  founder  of  the  nation.  A  sentiment  may  be, 
and  often  is,  thus  compounded  of  several  elements.  Even  a 
son's  emotional  attitude  towards  his  own  father  may  have 
its  origin  partly  in  the  direct  and  immediate  relations  be- 
tween the  two  and  partly  in  the  son's  conceptions  of  the 
father's  broader  experience  with  and  relations  to  the  world ; 
or  the  son  may  have  developed  the  abstract  sentiment  for 
fatherhood,  and  this  will  modify  his  emotional  attitude  to- 
wards his  own  father.  The  sentiment  for  Jesus  entertained 
by  a  Christian  is  organized  around  an  individual  person 
and  has  in  it  the  feelings  induced  by  his  own  personal  experi- 


SENTIMENTS  AND   IDEALS  97 

ence,  but  includes  also  his  love  of  holiness,  truth,  benev- 
olence, self-sacrifice,  and  all  that  goes  to  make  up  his  con- 
ception of  moral  and  spiritual  perfection  as  realized  in  Jesus. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  abstract  sentiments  are  built  up  out 
of  the  concrete  and  can  hardly  persist  as  vital  elements  of 
one's  character  except  upon  the  basis  of  the  concrete.  If 
we  do  not  love  individual  men  our  sentiment  for  humanity 
will  hardly  be  kept  alive.  If  our  hearts  do  not  respond 
properly  to  individual  acts  of  justice  or  injustice,  we  shall 
not  maintain  a  vigorous  love  of  justice  as  an  abstract  prin- 
ciple. The  sentiment  for  a  thing  may  be  due  solely  to  its 
symbolical  meaning.  Our  country's  flag  arouses  in  us  cer- 
tain emotions,  but  it  does  so  not  as  a  few  square  yards  of 
bunting  with  red,  white  and  blue  colours  upon  it ;  but  because 
it  is  a  symbol  of  all  the  glorious  meaning  our  country  has  for 
us.  After  a  voyage  abroad  the  sight  of  the  shores  of  our 
native  land  starts  a  tide  of  emotion,  not  because  those  rocks 
and  cliffs  and  stretches  of  sandy  beach  are  so  much  more 
attractive  than  other  rocks,  cliffs  and  beaches,  but  because 
they  bring  innumerable  suggestions  of  personal  experiences, 
of  human  associations  and  of  national  principles  and  ideals, 
which  are  of  the  very  warp  and  woof  of  our  lives.  It  is 
obvious  that  while  we  may  classify  sentiments  as  concrete  or 
as  abstract  according  to  the  objects  to  which  they  relate, 
many  of  them  are  very  complex,  and  not  a  few  are  com- 
pounded of  both  factors. 

(2)  According  to  the  second  principle  of  classification 
the  sentiments  are  ranged  in  a  scale  of  moral  values. 

It  should  be  said  at  once  that  there  are  no  sentiments 
which  are  good  or  bad,  per  se,  i.e.,  as  feeling  dispositions 
without  respect  to  their  objects.  Our  sentiments  are  tend- 
encies to  be  attracted  to  or  repelled  by  certain  objects ;  they 
are  dispositions  to  feel  in  some  of  their  forms,  degrees  and 
combinations  with  other  feelings,  the  great  generic  emotions 
of  tenderness  and  anger  for  objects.  And  attraction  and  re- 
pulsion, love  and  hate,  are  never  in  themselves  wrong. 
Their  moral  significance  all  depends  upon  what  attracts  or 


98  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

repels,  what  is  loved. or  hated.  But  while  moral  character 
can  not  be  attributed  to  the  sentiments  per  se,  they  are  of  the 
utmost  ethical  importance  because  in  them  our  most  impor- 
tant relations  with  the  objects  of  our  environment,  and 
especially  the  persons  and  principles  of  our  social  environ- 
ment, are  mainly  determined ;  and  in  those  relations  lies  the 
very  meaning  of  our  moral  and  spiritual  life.  One's  senti- 
ments, being  his  emotional  attitudes,  lie  at  the  very  centre  of 
his  personality  and  determine  his  conduct  in  his  most  mean- 
ingful reactions  upon  the  objects  outside  himself,  and  even 
with  respect  to  himself  his  conduct  is  determined  by  his 
sentiment  for  self.  It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  they  are 
the  fundamental  elements  of  character  and  the  supreme  reg- 
ulators of  conduct.  Perhaps  the  most  significant  elements  of 
personality  are  the  sentiments.  What  objects  does  a  man 
love,  not  temporarily  and  spasmodically,  but  what  can  he  be 
counted  on  to  have  that  feeling  for  whenever  it,  or  the  idea 
of  it,  is  present  to  his  mind  ?  What  does  he  hate,  not  in  un- 
related and  capricious  outbursts  of  anger,  but  what  is  it 
that  regularly  excites  such  an  emotion  in  him  whenever  he 
has  occasion  to  think  of  it?  What  does  he  reverence? 
What  does  he  despise  ?  What  does  he  honour  ?  What  does 
he  respect?  The  answers  to  these  and  similar  questions  evi- 
dently disclose  his  character  and  indicate  his  conduct;  and 
they  are  only  the  statement  of  his  sentiments.  Sentiments 
may  be  classified,  then,  as  good  or  bad  according  to  the 
objects  around  which  they  are  organized.  Our  intuitions  tell 
us  that  it  is  wrong  to  hate  certain  objects  and  wrong  to  love 
others. 

But  it  is  equally  evident  that  among  sentiments  that  are 
approved  by  a  healthy  conscience  not  all  are  of  equal  moral 
value;  and  likewise  among  those  which  are  properly  dis- 
approved not  all  are  of  equal  demerit.  In  both  the  positive 
and  negative  scales  of  moral  value  there  are  gradations  of 
sentiments,  according  to  the  objects  around  which  they  are 
organized.  Can  we  mark  off  with  clearness  these  grada- 
tions of  the  moral  values  of  the  sentiments  ?  To  attempt  to 


SENTIMENTS   AND   IDEALS  99 

do  so  in  detail  would  lead  into  a  hopeless  tangle  of  casuisti- 
cal distinctions  and  controversies;  but  in  a  general  way  it 
can  be  done  so  as  to  be  of  some  practical  helpfulness. 

It  is  obvious,  first,  that  attachment  to  a  material  thing  or 
to  an  animal  is  not  of  equal  moral  rank  with  attachment  to 
a  person.  A  special  feeling  for  a  house  or  a  dog  manifestly 
does  not  have  as  high  a  moral  significance  as  a  special  feeling 
for  a  human  being.  There  are  persons  who  seem  to  have  a 
stronger  and  more  highly  developed  sentiment  for  a  partic- 
ular animal  than  they  have  for  any  person;  but  it  surely 
requires  no  argument  to  show  that  it  is  abnormal  and  indi- 
cates a  moral  character  that  is  either  perverted  or  arrested 
in  its  development.  Even  when  human  associations  are  the 
chief  factors  in  a  sentiment  organized  about  a  material 
thing  or  an  animal,  though  that  fact  elevates  it  in  the  scale 
of  sentiments,  we  cannot  attribute  to  it  the  same  moral  sig- 
nificance that  we  do  to  a  sentiment  for  a  human  being.  This 
is  true,  first,  for  the  reason  that  things  are  inferior  to  moral 
personalities  and  can  not  have  the  same  reaction  upon 
those  who  assume  an  attitude  toward  them ;  second,  for  the 
reason  that  sentiments  for  them  ordinarily  determine  con- 
duct with  respect  to  them  only,  or  with  respect  to  persons 
only  as  related  to  them,  which  means  that  an  individual  with 
sentiments  so  organized  is  in  his  feeling  and  conduct  sub- 
ordinating fellow  men  to  things  that  are  lower  in  the  scale 
of  .being.  His  moral  life  is  turned  upside  down. 

In  the  second  place,  the  sentiments  we  have  for  persons 
are  not  all  of  equal  moral  significance.  Consider  the  senti- 
ments for  one's  self.  One  may  have  for  one's  self  the  senti- 
ment of  self-love,  pure  and  simple ;  or  the  sentiment  of  self- 
respect,  which  is  self-love  blended  with  and  controlled  by  the 
sentiment  for  personality  as  such,  which  involves  a  like  re- 
spect for  other  personalities.  This  is  unquestionably  of  a 
far  higher  moral  order  than  the  pure  egoism  of  self-love. 
The  child  is  egoistic ;  as  it  becomes  mature  the  self-love,  un- 
less it  is  modified  by  the  abstract  sentiment  for  personality, 
will  become  selfishness ;  or  in  so  far  as  it  manifests  itself  in 


100  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

a  demand  for  an  exaggerated  respect  on  the  part  of  others, 
egotism ;  or  when  blended  with  admiration  for  self,  pride  or 
vanity.  One's  love  for  his  father,  or  mother,  or  wife,  or 
child,  or  friend,  considered  as  a  feeling-disposition  in  and  by 
itself,  is  worthy  of  approval ;  but  is  elevated  by  being  blended 
with  the  abstract  sentiment  of  regard  for  personality  as 
such;  and  if  uncontrolled, by  the  general  sentiments  of  love 
of  truth,  justice,  etc.,  may  even  lead  to  wrong  moral  conduct 
in  our  relations  with  other  persons.  Likewise  one's  love  for 
his  country  is  in  itself  a  worthy  feeling;  but  it  is  lifted  to  a 
higher  level  when  blended  with  the  abstract  sentiment  of 
respect  for  the  dignity  of  nationality,  for  this  involves  a 
corresponding  respect  for  other  national  groups ;  and  unless 
the  sentiment  of  patriotism  is  modified  and  held  in  restraint 
by  supreme  devotion  to  justice  and  humanity,  it  may  lead 
to  the  perpetration  of  outrageous  international  wrongs. 
One's  love  for  God,  based  upon  the  conviction  that  God  has 
favoured  or  blessed  or  saved  him,  is  good;  but  it  is  better 
when  to  it  has  been  added  reverence  for  the  divine  charac- 
ter as  the  embodiment  of  perfect  truth,  justice  and  love. 
This  analysis  might  be  pursued  indefinitely,  but  enough  has 
been  said  to  indicate  that  our  attachments  to  individual 
persons,  groups  or  institutions  are  given  a  higher  moral 
worth  by  combination  with  the  loftier  abstract  sentiments. 

Now,  surely  if  it  is  true  of  the  sentiments  which  attach 
us  to  persons  or  groups,  or  institutions,  that  they  should 
be  controlled  by  the  abstract  or  universal  sentiments,  it  is 
far  more  true  of  the  sentiments  included  in  the  generic 
attitude  of  hatred.  The  sentiments  of  repulsion,  if  per- 
mitted to  run  riot  without  such  restraint,  are  thoroughly 
anti-social  and  would  lead  to  the  dissolution  of  society ;  but 
when  thoroughly  subjected  to  the  higher  sentiments  which 
are  organized  around  universal  principles  of  conduct,  they 
become  powerful  motives  to  truly  ethical  conduct ;  for  then 
individual  persons,  groups  and  institutions  are  hated  only  as 
they  are  the  embodiments  of  unethical  principles  of  con- 


SENTIMENTS   AND   jDEAtS  tbl 

duct  There  are  no  sentiments  of  love  or  admiration  for 
the  morally  bad  principles  of  conduct.  Nobody  loves  in- 
justice, or  inhumanity,  or  untruth,  or  any  other  abstract  prin- 
ciple of  conduct  of  an  immoral  or  anti-social  character, 
however  often  they  may  be  led  to  the  performance  of  indi- 
vidual acts  or  the  assumption  of  individual  attitudes  of  such 
a  character  under  the  impulsion  of  the  concrete  sentiments. 
And  herein  lies  one  of  the  distinguishing  excellences  of  the 
abstract  sentiments.  Another  excellence  is  that  they  are 
organized  around  general  ideas,  which  means  that  in  them 
the  emotions  are  under  the  control  of  reason.  They  are 
lifted  as  far  as  possible  above  the  instinct-controlled  level 
of  life.  In  them  the  instincts  impel,  but  do  not  direct. 

It  will  be  noted  that  the  moral  significance  of  only  those 
abstract  sentiments  organized  about  principles  of  conduct 
has  been  considered.  But  what  about  the  abstract  senti- 
ments organized  with  respect  to  generic  institutions?  In- 
stitutions are  the  organized  relations  of  men  to  one  another ; 
and  are,  therefore,  the  embodiments  of  ethical  principles. 
Our  sentiments  for  them  are  blended  with  those  organized 
with  respect  to  moral  principles.  The  generic  institutions 
are  idealizations  of  particular  ones,  and  the  sentiments  or- 
ganized about  them  are  never  of  an  immoral  or  anti-social 
character ;  and  are  of  a  more  ideal  character  than  those  felt 
for  particular  institutions.  Now,  one  does  not  have  a  sen- 
timent of  attachment  for  a  particular  institution  the  anti- 
social character  of  which  is  apparent  to  him,  and  much  less 
for  a  generic  institution  which  is  the  idealization  of  a  par- 
ticular one  of  this  character.  It  is  a  notable  fact  that  the 
institutions  whose  anti-social  character  is  manifest  are  never 
defended  except  as  necessary  or  unavoidable  evils.  An  evil 
institution,  such  as  the  saloon  or  the  brothel,  does  not  inspire 
a  sentiment  of  love  or  devotion  even  in  the  hearts  of 
those  whose  material  interests  may  lead  them  to  defend  its 
existence  and  extenuate  its  evil.  And  the  tendency  to  ex- 
tenuate its  evil  while  defending  it  as  a  necessary  evil  is  sig- 


ID2  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

nificant ;  it  shows  how  contrary  to  nature  it  is  to  feel  a  senti- 
ment of  devotion  for  an  evil  institution,  and  this  is  more 
emphatically  true  as  to  generic  institutions. 

e  have  seen,  then,  two  processes  going  on  in  the  devel- 
oping personality.  First,  the  primary  emotions  become  or- 
ganized into  sentiments  or  emotional  dispositions ;  and,  sec- 
ond, with  broadening  experience  and  ripening  intelligence 
abstract  sentiments  are  built  up  on  the  basis  of  the  concrete, 
and  control  or  modify  their  action.  The  personality  may, 
of  course,  be  arrested  in  its  development,  and  become  per- 
manently organized  around  some  concrete  sentiment,  even 
one  of  the  lowest  moral  value ;  and  it  must  be  admitted  that 
the  abstract  sentiments  in  many  people  never  reach  a  high 
development,  for  this  would  require  a  correspondingly  high 
development  of  the  intelligence.  But  I  am  speaking  only 
of  the  normal  trend  of  development. 

3.  We  must  turn  now  to  the  consideration  of  another 
most  important  process  which  goes  on  in  the  development  of 
personality.  Some  one  sentiment  tends  to  become  dominant 
and  controlling  in  the  whole  system.  The  developing  per- 
sonality tends  toward  unity  and  centralization,  and  some 
one  sentiment  becomes  the  focal  point  of  the  unity  or  the 
axis  of  centralization.  As  it  becomes  controlling,  it  tends 
to  exclude  or  to  dwarf  all  sentiments  that  are  not  consistent 
with  it;  and  by  monopolizing  one's  energy  may  weaken 
even  those  which  are  not  inconsistent  with,  but  only  com- 
plementary to  it.  This  is  a  matter  of  such  great  importance 
that  we  should  dwell  upon  it  at  some  length.  To  illustrate : 
a  man  has  a  feeling-disposition  with  regard  to  his  own 
property,  which  within  narrow  limits  is  proper  and  right. 
If  his  personality  is  arrested  in  its  development  and  comes 
to  be  organized  permanently  around  that  sentiment  as 
dominant,  a  large  number  of  sentiments  of  far  higher 
order  are  excluded.  The  development  of  the  corresponding 
abstract  sentiment  for  property  as  a  social  institution  may 
even  be  prevented.  Then  the  character  crystallizes  in 


SENTIMENTS  AND   IDEALS  IO3 

avarice.  But  suppose  the  abstract  sentiment  for  private 
property  as  a  generic  institution  is  developed  and  becomes 
dominant,  as  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  it  has  done  in 
the  minds  of  many  men  of  the  present  generation;  such  a 
person  is  lifted  above  avarice,  but  feels  supremely  the  dig- 
nity and  inviolability  of  the  individual  property  right  and  is 
more  quick  to  resent  any  supposed  entrenchment  upon  or 
limitation  of  that  right  than  any  other.  The  destruction  or 
confiscation  of  property  —  and  he  will  see  confiscation  in  all 
measures  that  tend  to  place  restrictions  upon  the  use  of 
property  according  to  pleasure  by  the  individual  or  cor- 
porate owner  —  seems  to  him  the  highest  crime  and  excites 
in  him  the  most  intense  anger.  Other  human  rights  make 
but  a  feeble  appeal  to  him  at  best,  if  they  seem  to  conflict 
with  this  sacred  right ;  and  the  danger  is  that  he  may  lose 
a  normal  sense  of  the  value  of  human  life  and  happiness 
even  when  they  are  consistent  with  maintaining  the  sacred- 
ness  of  private  property.  Such  a  sentiment  for  private 
property  is  believed  by  many  to  have  become  so  strong  in 
modern  life  and  to  have  become  so  deeply  embedded  in  the 
organic  law  of  modern  states  that  it  has  dwarfed  the  feeling 
for  the.sacredness  of  human  life,  liberty  and  happiness.  The 
sentiment  of  justice  —  in  the  narrow  sense  of  exact  retribu- 
tion, or  collective  retaliation  for  individual  offences  —  may 
become  so  dominant  as  to  dwarf,  if  not  destroy,  the  feeling 
of  pity  and  the  sense  of  brotherhood  for  the  offender.  The 
feeling  of  devotion  to  a  particular  church  or  denomination 
may  become  so  strong  in  a  person  that  it  will  absorb,  so  to 
speak,  his  emotional  energy  and  seriously  weaken  his  senti- 
ment of  human  brotherhood  for  those  without  its  pale.  Or 
the  sentiment  for  the  church  as  the  generic  institution  of 
religion  may  come  to  dominate  a  man  so  thoroughly  that  he 
will  cease  to  realize  that  it  is  only  an  instrument  for  the 
conservation  and  promotion  of  fundamental  human  in- 
terests. Further  examples  need  not  be  added  to  show  how 
universal  is  the  tendency  for  one  sentiment  to  dominate 


104  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

others  and  to  become  the  supreme  organizing  principle  of  a 
personality.  The  emotional  life  always  tends  to  centralize 
itself  around  one  sentiment. 

But  is  not  such  a  character  onesided?  And  is  onesided- 
ness  of  character  inevitable?  This  raises  the  question, 
which  has  most  important  significance,  both  theoretical  and 
practical,  is  there  any  one  sentiment  which  correlates  in 
due  proportion  all  sentiments  which  can  be  morally  ap- 
proved? If  there  be  such  a  sentiment  it  would  seem  to  be 
either  the  love  for  God  or  the  love  for  humanity.  But 
experience  shows  that  the  character  dominated  by  the  first 
tends  to  become  absorbed  in  mystical  contemplation  and 
devotion,  or  in  theological  speculation  and  contention,  ac- 
cording to  temperament;  and  that  the  energy  of  the  char- 
acter dominated  by  the  second  is  expended  in  passionate 
lamentation  over  human  woes,  or  in  practical  philanthropy, 
according  to  temperament.  Both  types  of  character  are  ex- 
cellent, but  both  are  onesided  —  the  very  thing  to  be  avoided. 
Neither  the  Jacob  Boehmes  nor  the  Abou  ben  Adhems  are 
ideal  characters.  It  is  of  striking  significance  that  the 
supreme  moral  code  of  the  ancient  world  embodied  the  two 
sentiments  —  love  for  God  and  love  for  one's  neighbour  — 
in  two  co-ordinate  tables  of  the  law.  And  it  is  of  still 
greater  significance  that  he  who  in  the  judgment  of  a  major- 
ity of  the  most  advanced  peoples  of  the  modern  world  was 
the  supreme  religious  and  moral  example  of  the  race  sum- 
marized that  ancient  law  in  the  two  commandments :  "  Thou 
shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  mind  and  soul 
and  strength,  and  thy  neighbour  as  thyself  " ;  and  embodied 
these  two  sentiments  in  perfect  co-ordination  in  his  char- 
acter and  conduct.  It  would  seem,  then,  that  the  balanced 
and  perfect  type  of  human  character  is  organized  around 
these  two  great  sentiments  as  co-ordinate. 

If  we  closely  examine  these  sentiments  we  shall  see  that 
they  not  only  supplement  but  enrich  one  another.  The 
first,  alone,  or  when  it  absorbs  into  itself  the  emotional 
energy  of  a  person,  tends  to  take  the  form  of  an  emotional 


SENTIMENTS   AND   IDEALS  IO5 

ecstasy  or  a  mystical  detachment  from  the  world,  both  of 
which  are  deficient  in  ethical  value.  The  second,  alone, 
tends  toward  a  conception  of  man  which,  while  entirely 
ethical,  is  shallow,  superficial,  and  inadequate  in  the  appre- 
ciation of  human  dignity.  Neither  sentiment,  therefore, 
comes  to  its  full  development  without  the  other.  Taken 
together,  they  constitute  the  two  foci  of  the  ellipse  of  per- 
fect character  —  the  one  attaching  us  to  the  infinite  person 
to  whom  we  are  subordinate,  the  other  to  the  finite  persons 
with  whom  we  are  co-ordinate.  Together  they  correlate  in 
due  proportion  all  the  sentiments  which  can  be  morally 
approved,  and  organize  the  human  character  into  a  perfect 
unity. 

II.  Let  us  turn  now  to  consider  ideals.  As  stated  at  the 
beginning  of  this  chapter,  our  sentiments  and  ideals  are 
closely  related  though  distinct. 

i.  Analysis.  An  ideal  has  been  defined  as  "an  image 
plus  a  meaning  plus  a  strong  emotional  colouring."  :  This 
is  true  as  far  as  is  goes,  but  it  does  not  go  far  enough.  An 
ideal  involves,  first,  an  idea  of  a  perfect  type  of  any  thing 
or  state  of  things,  any  person  or  group  of  persons.  Of 
course,  this  idea  of  perfection  is  an  idea  entertained  by  some 
person  or  persons;  it  is  not  strictly  correct,  therefore,  to 
speak  of  perfect  ideals,  because  the  human  conception  of  the 
perfect  type  of  anything  is  necessarily  a  relative  and  chang- 
ing thing.  Doubtless  God's  ideals  are  absolute ;  but  they  are, 
of  course,  unknown  to  men  except  as  they  are  stated  in  terms 
of  human  ideas,  which  are  relative.  Second,  it  involves  a 
mental  reference  to  imperfect  types,  actual  or  possible,  of 
the  things  or  persons  in  question.  If  the  idea  of  the  perfect 
type  is  in  the  focus  of  attention,  it  is  fringed  with  more  or 
less  distinct  images  of  the  imperfect  specimens ;  or  if  the  lat- 
ter are  in  the  centre  of  consciousness,  the  image  of  the  per- 
fect is  in  the  background.  These  images  of  the  perfect  and 
imperfect  types  constitute  the  intellectual  factors  of  the  ideal. 
Third,  it  involves  a  desire  that  the  perfect  type  become 

1  Bagley,  "  Educational  Values,"  p.  58. 


106  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

actual.  As  the  attention  centres  upon  the  image  of  the  per- 
fect a  pleasant  feeling-tone  accompanies  it;  as  it  centres 
upon  the  imperfect,  an  unpleasant  feeling-tone.  It  is  in  this 
desire  with  its  varying  feeling-tones  that  the  emotional  fac- 
tors of  the  ideal  are  found.  Perhaps  this  abstract  analysis 
needs  illustration.  Let  us  suppose  that  a  passionate  lover  of 
flowers  takes  a  rose  and  exclaims,  "  This  is  an  ideal  rose." 
Manifestly  he  is  contemplating  what  seems  to  him  a  rela- 
tively perfect  specimen  of  that  species  of  flower.  But  in  call- 
ing it  "  ideal  "  he  certainly  has  in  the  background  of  his  mind 
the  more  or  less  distinct  images  of  roses  less  perfect,  and  he 
has  also  some  measure  of  desire  that  all  roses  should  realize 
this  beauty.  He  feels  that  this  is  a  standard  for  all  roses 
to  be  measured  by ;  that  florists  should  seek  to  bring  them  all 
as  nearly  as  possible  up  to  this  standard.  In  contemplating 
it  as  an  ideal  he  has  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  mixed,  or  alter- 
nating, with  dissatisfaction  at  the  imperfection  of  the 
specimens  which  fall  below  this  standard.  The  same  is  true 
of  one's  ideal  of  personal  character.  He  has  in  mind  the 
image  of  a  personality  in  which  is  embodied  in  relative  per- 
fection those  elements  of  character  which  seem  to  him 
good.  In  contrast  with  this  image  there  are  more  or  less 
distinct  images  of  personalities  that  are  in  some  respects 
inferior;  and  there  is  present  the  emotionally  toned  desire 
that  they  should  realize  the  perfect  type.  Similar  intellec- 
tual and  emotional  factors  enter  into  all  ideals,  individual  or 
social. 

These  factors  are,  of  course,  very  variable  in  their 
strength.  As  one  contemplates  the  ideal,  at  one  time  the 
intellectual  factors,  the  ideas,  may  be  very  vivid  and  the 
desire  with  its  feeling-tones  may  be  at  a  minimum  —  re- 
duced to  an  almost  colourless  wish ;  but  at  another  time  the 
emotional  factors  may  be  very  powerful,  rising  into  the 
strength  of  a  passion,  while  the  intellectual  processes  in- 
volved may  be  very  indistinct.  They  may  vary  also  with 
respect  to  the  different  ideals  which  a  person  may  cherish. 
It  may  be  characteristic  of  some  of  one's  ideals  that  they 


SENTIMENTS   AND   IDEALS  IO7 

embody  very  distinct  and  vivid  concepts  with  comparatively 
weak  feelings;  or  very  hazy  concepts  with  very  powerful 
emotions.  I  do  not  mean  to  imply  by  this  form  of  state- 
ment that  the  intensities  of  the  intellectual  and  emotional 
factors  are  necessarily  in  inverse  ratio.  That  may  be  so, 
and  I  suspect  that  the  tendency  is  that  way ;  but  we  are  not 
justified  in  claiming  that  it  always  is  and  must  be  so.  The 
point  insisted  on  is  that  these  factors  may  vary  with  respect 
to  one's  different  ideals  and  with  respect  to  the  same  ideal 
at  different  times.  It  is  obvious,  too,  that  they  vary  with 
the  temperamental  peculiarities  of  different  persons.  In 
some  persons  the  intellectual  factors  are  predominant  in 
all  mental  processes,  and  in  others  the  emotional  factors. 
Perhaps  it  is  for  this  reason  that  idealists  and  reformers 
usually  divide  into  two  classes :  those  who  are  chiefly  inter- 
ested in  formulating  the  concepts  or  ideas,  and  those  who 
mainly  devote  their  energies  to  striving  for  their  actual 
embodiment  —  i.e.,  the  intellectualists  and  the  emotionalists. 
But  it  is  important  to  bear  in  mind  that  both  factors  are 
always  present  in  some  proportion. 

2.  An  ideal  is  either  a  pure  product  of  the  constructive 
imagination,  without  any  objective  reality  corresponding  to 
it,  or  an  image  of  an  objective  fact  which  actually  embodies 
the  highest  conception  one  can  form  of  that  type  of  reality ; 
tl:°*  is,  it  may  be  a  realized  or  an  unrealized  ideal.  But  like 
all  constructions  of  the  imagination,  the  unrealized  ideal  is 
based  upon  experience.  The  elements  of  which  it  is  con- 
structed are  found  in  the  ideas  of  actual  things.  The  un- 
realized ideal  of  a  horse  or  a  house  is  necessarily  fashioned 
on  the  basis  of  one's  knowledge  of  real  horses  or  houses; 
and  one's  social  Utopia  is  based  upon  his  acquaintance  with 
actual  social  facts.  Inevitably,  therefore,  our  experience 
conditions  and  limits  the  formation  of  our  ideals.  This  is 
true  because  our  ideas  —  the  intellectual  factors  of  our 
ideals  —  are  the  products  of  experience,  and  can  have  no 
other  origin.  It  is  impossible  for  the  child  to  have  the  same 
ideal  in  its  intellectual  factors  as  the  adult;  for  one  gen- 


IO8  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

eration  to  cherish  the  same  social  ideal  as  another,  so  far 
as  definite  concepts  are  concerned;  for  one  person,  indeed, 
to  hold  an  ideal  precisely  identical  in  its  intellectual  aspects 
with  that  held  by  another.  We  may  try  to  develop  in  a 
group  of  persons  an  exactly  identical  ideal;  but  inevitably 
the  peculiar  experience  of  each,  as  organized  in  his  ideas, 
will  give  a  somewhat  singular  shape  to  the  ideal  which  is 
formed  in  his  mind  and  cherished  in  his  heart.  One's  ideals 
are  integral  parts  of  his  mental  system,  which  is  in  some 
respects  different  from  the  mental  system  of  every  other. 
Of  course,  these  differences  between  the  mental  systems  of 
men  who  live  in  the  same  general  environment  and  have 
the  same  general  forms  of  experience  are  not  always  of 
great  practical  importance ;  but  our  modern  life  is  so  highly 
differentiated,  so  variously  complex,  that  one  is  sometimes 
startled  at  the  wide  differences  between  the  points  of  view, 
modes  of  thought  and  ideals  of  men  who  move  side  by  side 
in  many  of  the  activities  of  life.  It  is  of  great  practical 
importance  not  only  to  be  aware  of  the  fact,  which  can 
hardly  be  hidden  from  any  one  who  knows  men,  but  to 
understand  its  causes  and  significance.  What  we  see  in  our 
modern  life  is  a  vast  medley  of  various  and  more  or  less 
conflicting  ideals,  individual  and  social.  It  is  the  inevitable 
psychological  result  of  the  marvellous  differentiation  of 
human  activities  in  a  highly  complex  and  multifarious 
civilization.1 

3.  It  is  apparent  that  sentiments  and  ideals  are  closely 
related.  Ideals  may  be  classified  as  a  species  of  sentiments. 
They  are  emotional  dispositions  organized  around  a  certain 
class  of  ideas,  or  around  certain  objects  which  embody  these 
ideas.  They  differ  from  other  sentiments  in  the  fact  that 
the  ideas  which  constitute  the  intellectual  core  of  them  are 
conceived  as  perfect  states  or  conditions  which  are  goals  to 
be  striven  for.  It  is  characteristic  of  all  positive  sentiments 
that,  in  the  absence  of  their  objects,  a  desire  for  them  is  felt. 
The  peculiarity  of  the  ideal  is  that  its  object  is  thought  of  as 

1  See  Chapter  on  Mental  Systems. 


SENTIMENTS   AND   IDEALS  109 

absent  in  the  sense  that  it  is  unrealized,  or  at  most  realized 
in  only  one,  or  a  portion,  of  the  class  of  objects  to  which 
it  belongs.  Sentiments  other  than  ideals  are  indices  of 
character  as  already  organized ;  ideals  are  sign  boards  which 
point  the  direction  in  which  character  is  developing.  One's 
other  sentiments  determine  in  large  measure,  if  not  wholly, 
his  ideals ;  for,  though  he  may  be  given  the  idea  of  a  perfect 
state  far  above  the  actual,  how  can  he  desire  it  if  it  does 
not  connect  somewhere  with  the  feeling-dispositions  already 
organized  in  him  ?  As  the  character  is  organized  and  some 
sentiment  becomes  dominant,  some  supreme  ideal  will  also 
develop  in  harmony  therewith. 

But,  since  ideals  indicate  the  direction  in  which  character 
is  growing,  does  not  this  doctrine  imply  a  necessary  and 
inevitable  continuity  without  breach  in  the  development  of 
character?  Such  a  conclusion  would  leave  out  of  account 
a  most  important  aspect  of  the  matter.  Sentiments  are 
organized  in  experience,  and  this  is  true  of  ideals.  Expe- 
rience is  the  reaction  of  the  personality  upon  various  phases 
of  one's  environment.  To  develop  new  sentiments  or  ideals 
which  modify  or  disintegrate  old  sentiments  and  ideals,  the 
persons  must  have  new  experiences,  must  be  surrounded 
with  a  new  environment  or  brought  into  new  relations  with 
parts  of  the  existing  environment.  And  certainly  so  long  as 
the  crystallization  of  the  character  is  not  absolute,  this  is  a 
possibility  that  is  ever  open.  It  should  be  said  that  we  are 
using  the  word  environment  in  its  broadest  significance  — 
including  not  only  the  material  conditions  of  life,  but  the 
whole  universe  of  personal  beings,  human  and  divine. 

III.  There  is  clearly  no  danger  of  overestimating  the  im- 
portance of  sentiments  and  ideals,  whether  we  look  at  the 
individual,  the  community  or  the  nation.  "  The  whole  his- 
tory of  moral  progress  as  we  pass  down  the  ages  is  the 
record  of  a  succession  of  changing  ideals."  *  These  are  true 
words.  Sentiments  and  ideals  are  of  the  very  substance  of 
character,  personal  and  social.  They  are  supremely  signifi- 
iMacCunn,  "The  Making  of  Character,"  p.  141. 


IIO  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

cant  for  teachers  and  preachers.  Indeed,  are  they  not 
supremely  significant  for  all  men?  The  making  of  char- 
acter is  the  one  serious  business  in  the  world.  No  man  has 
begun  to  get  the  right  point  of  view  upon  his  work  until 
he  looks  at  it  in  its  relation  to  character-making.  The 
failure  to  do  this  is  what  degrades  so  much  of  the  world's 
work.  But  in  an  especial* way  this  matter  is  important  for 
preachers ;  for  their  business  in  a  peculiarly  direct  way  is 
aimed  at  the  development  of  right  sentiments  and  ideals. 
However  strongly  they  may  believe  in  and  insist  on  the 
direct  regenerating  and  sanctifying  action  of  the  Divine 
Spirit  upon  the  hearts  of  men  —  and  I  do  strongly  believe  in 
it  —  the  only  way  in  which  they  can  relate  themselves  to  this 
process  is  by  developing  the  proper  mental  attitudes  and 
emotional  dispositions  in  the  people  to  whom  they  minister. 
A  right  emotional  attitude  seems  to  be  the  necessary  condi- 
tion for  the  redeeming  action  of  the  Divine  upon  the  human 
spirit,  and  right  emotional  attitudes  are  the  necessary  condi- 
tions for  the  development  of  the  spiritual  life  after  it  has 
been  initiated.  At  any  rate,  however  these  emotional  dispo- 
sitions may  be  related  to  the  action  of  the  Divine  Spirit  —  a 
matter  about  which  theologians  have  found  it  difficult  to 
reach  an  agreement  —  it  is  certain  that  they  have  a  vital  re- 
lation to  the  origin  and  progress  of  the  spiritual  life,  and  it 
is  certain  also  that  they  are  very  largely  under  the  control 
of  human  agencies.  And  it  is  the  preacher's  high  privilege 
and  responsibility  to  influence  the  spiritual  life  from  begin- 
ning to  end  by  developing  these  dispositions. 

IV.  This  leads  to  the  question,  how  are  these  emotional 
dispositions  developed?  To  be  concrete,  let  us  ask  how  a 
child's  sentiment  for  its  mother  is  developed.  That  senti- 
ment is  not  in-born ;  but  from  the  beginning  of  life  the  little 
one  has  numerous  and  varying  experiences  of  its  mother. 
Normally  these  experiences  are  such  as  to  give  satisfaction 
to  its  varying  needs  and  are  attended  by  pleasant  feelings; 
her  absence  is  accompanied  by  the  consciousness  of  unsatis- 
fied needs  and  unpleasant  feelings.  There  thus  grows  up 


SENTIMENTS   AND   IDEALS  III 

around  her  person  a  feeling-disposition,  a  tendency  to  feel 
about  her  in  certain  ways  under  certain  conditions.  As  the 
child  advances  into  the  age  of  reason,  he  begins  to  think 
about  his  mother's  relation  to  him.  He  perceives  that  her 
tender  kindness  and  helpfulness  toward  him  are  fixed  dispo- 
sitions in  her;  he  sees  more  and  more  clearly  what  his 
mother  means  and  has  meant  to  him,  and  the  emotional  dis- 
position of  unthinking  childhood  is  extended,  deepened, 
strengthened,  rationalized.  He  observes  other  mothers 
in  relation  to  their  children,  and  gradually  there  grows 
up  in  his  mind  the  concept  of  motherhood  in  gen- 
eral and  in  connection  therewith  a  certain  feeling-disposi- 
tion, which  reacts  upon  and  elevates  the  disposition  he  has 
toward  his  own  mother.  The  very  idea  of  motherhood 
warms  his  heart  with  a  complex  of  feelings,  according  to 
the  connection  in  which  he  thinks  it.  He  sees  a  mother 
with  a  child  in  her  arms,  and  the  sight  fills  him  with  a 
feeling  at  once  tender  and  reverential.  He  hears  an  un- 
grateful son  speak  disrespectfully  of  his  mother,  and  it 
excites  a  contemptuous  indignation  for  the  unnatural  in- 
grate.  With  advancing  age  and  enlarging  experience,  the 
sentiment  becomes  stronger  and  tenderer.  The  presence  or 
memory  of  his  own  mother  floods  his  soul  with  a  feeling 
sweet  beyond  expression  and  almost  worshipful  in  its  rev- 
erence. But  it  is  evident  that  his  noble  sentiment  originated 
in  and  has  been  developed  through  the  innumerable  and 
varied  experiences  which  have  kindled  in  him  pleasant  emo- 
tions with  respect  to  her.  And  this  sentiment  will  certainly 
be  deeper  and  stronger  if  throughout  this  course  of  expe- 
rience he  has  given  practical  expression  of  his  growing  love 
for  her. 

This  crude  sketch  of  the  development  of  one  of  our  finest 
sentiments  is  intended  to  help  us  to  grasp  clearly  the  simple 
and  essential  elements  of  the  process.  The  repeated  excita- 
tion of  the  appropriate  feelings  in  connection  with  an  object 
or  an  idea,  and  the  appropriate  expression  of  those  feelings 
—  such  is  the  simple  process  by  which  sentiments  are  devel- 


112  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

oped.  Fundamentally  it  is  a  process  of  habit  formation. 
But  at  one  point  we  should  be  on  guard :  it  is  to  be  accom- 
plished not  so  much  by  the  identical  repetition  of  one  act 
intended  to  excite  a  pleasant  feeling.  For  unfortunately 
the  continued  repetition  of  this  one  act  will  gradually  cease 
to  excite  feeling.  It  comes  rather  by  varied  experiences 
which  excite  the  appropriate  feelings. 

I  can  not  stop  here  to  dwell  upon  the  importance  of  read- 
ing as  a  means  of  developing  the  sentiments,  though  its 
importance  can  hardly  be  over-estimated.  Especially  are 
certain  kinds  of  literature,  such  as  poetry  and  fiction,  appro- 
priate for  this  purpose.  The  sentiments  and  ideals  of  the 
average  person  are,  in  our  reading  age,  created  and  modified 
to  a  very  large  extent  by  the  poems  and  stories  which  he 
reads;  and  with  many  people  the  drama  also  is  a  potent 
factor  in  the  development  of  feeling-dispositions. 

Our  purpose,  however,  is  not  to  discuss  the  significance  of 
literature  and  the  drama  for  our  emotional  life  —  to  which 
a  whole  chapter,  or  many  chapters,  might  well  be  devoted ; 
but  it  is  to  emphasize  the  relation  of  preaching  to  this  most 
important  aspect  of  character-making.  To  direct  and  or- 
ganize the  emotional  life  of  the  people  is  a  principal  business 
of  preaching  —  perhaps  it  would  not  be  an  exaggeration  to 
say  that  it  is  the  chief  function.  And  the  method  is  obvious. 
If  the  preacher's  object  is,  for  instance,  to  develop  in  his 
hearers  the  sentiment  of  love  for  God,  the  idea  of  God  must 
be  repeatedly  presented  to  them  in  such  ways  as  to  be  attrac- 
tive, to  awaken  in  them  pleasant  feelings  with  respect  to 
Him;  but  if  the  love  they  are  led  to  feel  for  Him  is  to  be 
reverential,  the  feeling  of  reverence  must  also  be  repeatedly 
aroused.  His  goodness,  kindness,  self-sacrifice  must  be  pre- 
sented in  varied  lights  together  with  His  majesty  and  holi- 
ness, and  in  such  ways  as  to  arouse  the  appropriate  feelings. 
If  the  aim  is  to  develop  the  sentiment  of  love  for  humanity, 
then  humanity,  both  in  the  concrete  and  the  abstract,  must 
be  so  presented  as  to  arouse  a  kindly,  brotherly  feeling  for 
individual  men,  and  for  man  in  the  abstract,  and  incite  to  its 


SENTIMENTS   AND   IDEALS  113 

practical  expression.  How  often  does  the  preacher  by  his 
sneers  at  human  frailties,  his  depreciation  of  human  virtues, 
his  one-sided  exaggeration  of  the  moral  depravity  of  human 
nature,  tend  to  develop  in  his  hearers  misanthropy  rather 
than  the  noble  sentiment  of  philanthropy,  the  twin  sentiment 
of  the  love  of  God !  Indeed  he  has  sometimes  represented 
God  to  the  people  in  such  a  barbarous  caricature  as  to  de- 
velop, at  the  very  best,  no  higher  feeling  than  that  of  a  cer- 
tain fearful  awe,  and  at  the  worst  a  positive  disposition  of 
hostility.  Of  course,  the  moral  failings  of  men  should  not 
be  ignored  nor  the  depravity  of  the  human  heart  covered  up ; 
but  the  essential  dignity  of  human  nature  may  be  effectively 
impressed  without  hiding  its  scars,  and  the  infinite  precious- 
ness  of  the  humblest  human  personality  may  be  so  presented 
as  to  appeal  to  the  noblest  feelings,  without  minimizing  its 
weakness.  Nor  should  the  character  of  God  be  so  repre- 
sented as  to  leave  out  His  stern  moral  severity ;  for  the  law 
is  as  truly  an  expression  of  His  character  as  is  mercy.  But 
this  can  be  so  done  as  to  stir  more  profoundly  the  feeling  of 
love  for  Him.  To  develop  these  noblest  sentiments  of  love 
for  God  and  love  for  man  one  need  not  cover  up  human  sin 
nor  hide  the  divine  holiness. 

To  develop  these  sentiments  until  they  become  dominant 
in  the  lives  of  the  people  is  the  supreme  business  of  the 
preacher.  What  a  noble  function!  More  than  any  other 
worker  in  the  great  process  of  character-building,  he  deals 
directly  with  sentiments  and  ideals.  His  primary  business  is 
with  the  emotional  life.  He  should  not  —  he  must  not  — 
omit  teaching;  for  his  task  is  precisely  that  of  refining  and 
rationalizing  the  crude  emotions  of  the  instinctive  life,  or- 
ganizing them  around  great  ideas  and  principles,  so  that  they 
to  whom  he  ministers  shall  come  to  have  fixed  tendencies  to 
right  feeling  when  they  deal  with  situations  involving  ideas 
and  principles.  This  defines  his  most  vital  relation  not  only 
to  individual  lives  but  to  the  social  life.  It  is  his  great  task 
to  help  the  world  toward  a  better  organization  of  society 
primarily  by  building  up  right  public  sentiments  and  ideals. 


114  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

To  do  so  he  must,  to  be  sure,  have  a  clear  intellectual  grasp 
of  social  facts  and  principles ;  for  without  this  he  may  be  a 
most  effective  hindrance  to  social  progress  by  organizing  the 
emotional  life  of  the  people  around  false  or  imperfect  con- 
ceptions of  social  relations.  But  having  acquired  true  ideas 
of  social  processes  and  relations,  let  him  devote  himself  to 
developing  right  emotional  dispositions  in  connection  with 
them,  being  assured  that  there  is  no  other  work  in  the  whole 
great  process  of  social  advancement  so  much  needed.  For 
apart  from  proper  emotional  dispositions,  the  clearest  and 
most  comprehensive  ideas  and  principles  are  without  power 
to  control  the  actions  of  men. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   EXCITATION   OF   FEELING 

IN  the  two  preceding  chapters  emphasis  has  been  laid 
upon  the  importance  of  the  relation  which  the  emotional 
life  bears  to  preaching.  It  is  well  now  to  consider  the  most 
effective  means  and  methods  of  exciting  feeling. 

Emotion  is  always  aroused  in  one  of  three  ways.  The 
first  is  immediate  experience,  i.e.,  some  contact  with  the 
environment  which  directly  affects  one's  own  personal  wel- 
fare, physical  or  mental  —  for  example,  the  prick  of  a  thorn, 
a  good  dinner,  a  harsh  voice,  a  sweet  melody,  a  desirable 
gift,  a  happy  discovery,  the  death  of  a  loved  one,  etc.,  etc. 
The  second  is  sympathy  with  another  in  his  experience. 
When  we  witness  the  signs  of  feeling  in  another  it  excites 
a  similar  feeling  in  us.  This  is  true  even  when  we  do  not 
perceive  the  cause  of  the  feeling.  We  tend  to  laugh  when 
we  see  others  laugh,  although  we  may  not  know  what  is 
causing  the  hilarity.  If  we  see  another  weeping,  it  arouses 
a  sympathetic  sorrow  in  us  before  we  discover  the  cause 
of  theirs.  A  band  of  happy,  romping  children  makes  the 
heart  of  every  one  who  is  not  a  misanthrope  beat  with  glad- 
ness. This  may  be  called  mediate  or  sympathetic  experi- 
ence. If  when  we  discover  the  cause  of  the  emotion  it 
is  seen  to  be  something  which  would,  if  experienced  by  us, 
arouse  in  us  a  similar  one,  the  sympathetic  feeling  is 
deepened.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  it  turns  out  to  be  some- 
thing which  would  arouse  in  us  a  different  or  opposite  feel- 
ing, there  is  a  reaction,  and  the  sympathetic  feeling  is  likely 
to  be  turned  into  disgust.  If  I  saw  a  woman  weeping  as  if 
her  heart  would  break,  I  should,  before  I  knew  the  cause, 

"5 


Il6  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

experience  a  keen  sympathetic  grief;  but  if  I  should  learn 
that  the  cause  of  her  anguish  was  the  death  of  a  poodle  dog, 
my  participation  in  her  grief  would  come  to  a  rather  abrupt 
end.  That  is,  whenever  the  feeling  of  another  seems  to  us 
incongruous  or  incommensurate  with  its  cause,  it  arouses  a 
dissimilar  or  opposite  feeling  in  us.  The  third  means  of 
arousing  feeling  is  the  mental  representation,  the  image  or 
idea  either  of  an  immediate  personal  experience  which 
would  awaken  feeling,  or  of  an  experience  of  another  which 
would  arouse  sympathy.  This  may  be  called  a  secondary  or 
representative  experience. 

Broadly  speaking,  there  are  two  means  at  the  disposal  of 
the  orator  for  arousing  the  feelings  of  his  audience. 

I.  Delivery.  By  delivery  is  meant  all  the  physical  proc- 
esses involved  in  the  communication  of  the  speaker's  thought 
and  feeling  —  general  bearing,  poses,  gestures,  contraction 
of  the  facial  muscles,  modulation  of  the  voice,  etc.  We 
shall  not  stop  to  consider  whether  there  be  any  occult,  secret, 
unanalysable  power  by  which  one  mind  may  impress  another 
apart  from  physical  expressions.  Some  persons  seem  to 
possess  such  a  power,  and  it  may  be  that  all  have  some 
measure  of  it.  But  whatever  power  of  such  a  kind  there 
may  be,  it  lies  in  its  very  nature  beyond  the  reach  of  profit- 
able discussion.  Certainly  the  ordinary  means  by  which  one 
person  communicates  his  ideas  and  feelings  to  others  or 
awakens  them  in  others  is  physical  action  of  some  sort. 
The  appeal  is  to  the  eye  and  ear,  or  more  exactly  to  the 
mind  through  the  eye  and  the  ear. 

In  delivery  two  ways  in  which  feeling  may  be  aroused 
in  the  audience  should  be  distinguished. 

(i)  By  some  peculiarity  in  the  appearance,  the  manner 
or  the  voice  of  the  speaker.  The  peculiarity  may  excite 
pleasant  or  unpleasant  feelings.  Slovenly  or  neat  dress, 
awkward  or  easy  manner,  harsh  or  sweet  tones  of  the  voice, 
etc.,  will  inevitably  produce  corresponding  emotional  reac- 
tions. There  is  here  no  communication  of  feeling;  for  in- 
born peculiarities  of  bearing,  appearance,  manner,  voice, 


THE   EXCITATION    OF   FEELING  1 17 

etc.,  do  not  necessarily  express  the  feeling  of  a  man  and  seem 
to  bear  no  definite  relation  to  the  emotional  life,  although 
one  can  hardly  divest  himself  of  the  impression  that  there 
is  some  indefinite  relation  between  the  two.  But,  however 
that  may  be,  it  is  manifest  that  the  speaker  should  be  ex- 
ceedingly careful  as  to  this  matter.  His  personal  pecu- 
liarities will  inevitably  impress  his  hearers  in  such  a  way  as 
to  assist  or  hinder  the  impression  which  he  desires  to  make 
upon  them.  These  personal  peculiarities  may  awaken  in 
them  feelings  which  will  effectively  aid  or  wholly  negative 
the  proper  emotional  response  which  he  wishes  to  induce  in 
them.  Even  when  he  has  the  proper  feeling  himself,  his 
unfortunate  personal  peculiarities  may  render  it  next  to  im- 
possible for  him  to  secure  the  proper  emotional  response 
from  them.  That  is  a  sad  spectacle,  though  it  sometimes 
becomes  sadly  ridiculous.  What  should  the  preacher  do  in 
such  circumstances?  Get  rid  of  the  peculiarity,  of  course, 
if  that  be  possible;  at  any  rate,  by  constant  training  and  dis- 
cipline reduce  it  to  a  minimum,  and  cultivate  to  the  max- 
imum whatever  pleasure-exciting  traits  he  may  be  endowed 
with.  With  this  advice,  let  us  pass  to  another  and  more 
important  element  in  delivery. 

(2)  The  excitation  of  emotion  by  expression  and  com- 
munication. We  have  seen  that  every  feeling  has  a  phys- 
iological side  —  the  contraction  of  certain  groups  of  mus- 
cles. It  has  also  been  pointed  out  that  the  parts  of  the 
muscular  system  more  immediately  involved  in  feeling  are 
those  connected  with  the  organic  processes  of  circulation, 
respiration  and  secretion.  The  contraction  of  the  sets  of 
muscles  controlling  the  organs  by  which  we  react  upon  the 
external  world  do  not  involve  the  purely  psychical  or  con- 
scious side  of  feeling,  except  as  it  may  induce  a  tension  or 
disturbance  in  the  muscles  controlling  the  more  vital  proc- 
esses mentioned;  and  this  it  usually  does.  Now,  while  the 
contraction  of  the  muscles  controlling  the  externally  acting 
organs  may  cause  feeling  by  inducing  disturbance  in  the 
central  vital  processes,  it  is  also  true  that  the  internal  organic 


Il8  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

tension  tends  to  induce  contractions  in  these  outwardly  act- 
ing muscles,  and  in  this  way  the  feeling  may  express  itself 
through  them  to  other  persons.  A  feeling  of  any  kind 
which  involves  an  organic  disturbance  of  much  intensity  is 
likely  to  lead  to  some  appropriate  movement  of  the  arms 
and  legs.  If  the  inward  disturbance  is  very  great  it  is  al- 
most certain  to  result  in  a  wild  or  aimless  flinging  about  of 
the  arms  or  stamping  of  the  feet,  or  induce  a  trembling  of 
the  entire  muscular  system  which  affects  the  whole  bodily 
frame.  If  the  emotion  is  depressing,  it  will  produce  relax- 
ation, and  then  the  body  will  droop  or  sway  and  seem  about 
to  collapse.  A  deep  feeling  often  leads  to  the  utterance  of 
a  cry  or  a  moan.  A  comparatively  slight  organic  disturb- 
ance may  induce  the  contraction  of  the  facial  muscles,  which 
accounts  for  the  fact  that  changes  in  the  countenance  are 
among  the  surest  indications  of  feeling  in  all  degrees  of 
intensity.  It  is  clear,  then,  that  those  parts  of  our  muscu- 
lature which  are  not  immediately  involved  in  the  feeling  ex- 
perience may  become  very  effective  expressions  of  feeling 
to  others.  But  it  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  expres- 
sion through  any  of  the  larger  muscles  of  the  external  group 
is  really  a  discharge  of  the  feeling.  The  energy  expended 
in  the  movements  of  the  arms  and  legs,  especially,  is  so 
much  subtracted  from  the  inward  organic  contractions  with 
which  the  feeling-tones  are  immediately  connected.  This 
may  be  true  even  as  to  the  expressions  through  the  contrac- 
tion of  the  facial  muscles ;  but  in  this  case  the  effect  is  too 
slight  to  be  of  significance.  The  principle  may  be  briefly 
formulated  thus :  the  more  demonstration  through  the  ex- 
ternal muscles  —  those  of  the  arms  and  legs  and  vocal  or- 
gans —  the  less  becomes  the  internal  tension,  and  the  lower 
the  feeling-tones.  Such  demonstrations  not  only  express 
and  therefore  relieve  feelings  of  great  intensity;  but,  if  in- 
dulged in  before  intense  feelings  have  been  developed,  may 
also  prevent  them. 

In  this  connection  arises  the  very  interesting  question 
which  has  been  much  discussed  by  psychologists,  to  what 


THE   EXCITATION    OF    FEELING  119 

extent  has  a  person  voluntary  control  of  his  emotions? 
Can  one  by  a  simple  act  of  the  will  induce  in  himself  any 
emotion  he  desires  to  experience?  If  so,  how?  Can  he 
inhibit,  annul,  any  emotion  which  has  been  aroused  in  him- 
self? And  how?  Actors  have  been  questioned  as  to 
whether  they  consciously  feel  the  emotions  the  physical 
manifestations  of  which  they  assume,  and  they  do  not  agree 
in  their  answers.  Possibly  this  disagreement  is  due  to  the 
failure  of  at  least  some  of  them  to  understand  all  that  is 
implied  in  the  question.  At  any  rate  it  is  extremely  prob- 
able, if  not  certain,  that  whenever  the  organic  tensions 
which  constitute  the  physical  side  of  the  emotions  are  really 
induced,  the  corresponding  feeling-tones  are  always  present. 
The  feeling  on  its  conscious  side  consists  of  a  mass  of  or- 
ganic sensations  plus  their  feeling-tones.  If  the  organic 
disturbances  are  really  induced,  the  organic  sensations  must 
be  present,  and  the  feeling-tone  in  some  degree  of  inten- 
sity will  inevitably  accompany.  Can,  then,  the  organic  ten- 
sion be  induced  at  will?  Not  immediately,  not  by  a  sheer 
fiat  of  the  will  directed  straight  upon  that  part  of  the  mus- 
cular system.  It  must  be  done  by  fixing  the  attention  upon 
the  appropriate  mental  images.  One  cannot  make  himself 
feel  the  emotion  of  anger  by  simply  saying,  "  I  will  be  an- 
gry"; but  he  can  by  vividly  imagining  a  situation  which 
would  arouse  his  anger.  The  will  induces  the  emotion  by 
choosing  to  dwell  upon  the  appropriate  ideas.  Likewise  one 
can  induce  the  feeling  of  gratitude  by  fixing  his  attention 
upon  the  mental  image  of  a  situation  or  act  which  would  in- 
cite that  feeling.  On  the  other  hand,  how  can  one  inhibit  or 
annul  an  emotion  which  he  already  feels?  The  answer  is, 
by  voluntarily  relaxing  the  muscular  tensions  which  con- 
stitute the  physical  side  of  the  emotion.  If  in  the  heat  of 
anger  he  will  by  an  act  of  the  will  relax  his  tense  muscles 
the  anger  will  at  once  cool.  But  here  also  it  is  really  the 
direction  of  the  attention  which  accomplishes  the  result.  In 
the  resolve  to  relax,  the  attention  is  directed  away  from  the 
act  or  situation  or  idea  which  aroused  the  anger  and  is 


120  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

directed  upon  the  act  of  muscular  relaxation  itself.  The 
same  result  might  be  accomplished  by  the  resolute  fixing  of 
the  attention  in  any  other  direction  away  from  the  cause  of 
the  anger.  The  voluntary  control  of  one's  own  emotion  is, 
then,  a  matter  of  the  control,  or  the  direction,  of  the  attention. 

One  can,  however,  be  more  successful  in  controlling  the 
contraction  of  the  externally  acting  organs  by  a  sheer  reso- 
lution of  the  will,  directed  immediately  upon  the  muscles 
controlling  them;  and  can  thus,  without  experiencing  the 
appropriate  emotions,  imitate  at  least  many  of  the  move- 
ments by  which  the  emotions  normally  express  themselves  to 
others  through  these  organs.  He  can  clinch  his  fist,  or  ex- 
tend his  arms  in  pleading  gestures,  or  stamp  his  feet,  or 
scream  or  moan,  etc.,  by  a  direct  act  of  the  will  without 
the  corresponding  emotions.  However,  these  actions,  if 
they  are  true  forms  of  the  expression  of  the  emotions  tend 
to  induce  in  some  measure  the  corresponding  internal  ten- 
sions with  their  attendant  states  of  consciousness ;  but  this 
is  usually  accomplished  only  in  small  measure.  The  dis- 
proportion in  such  a  case  between  the  external  demonstra- 
tion and  the  internal  disturbance  is  too  evident,  and  makes 
a  proportionately  weak  impression  on  the  observer.  There 
is  too  much  thunder  and  too  little  lightning;  too  much 
sound  and  fury,  signifying  nothing. 

It  is  apparent  now  what  is  the  psychological  explanation 
of  "  tearing  a  passion  to  tatters."  It  is  outward  demonstra- 
tion which  is  not  the  expression  of  a  corresponding  inward, 
or  organic  disturbance;  violent  contraction  of  the  external 
muscular  system,  when  the  internal  systems  controlling  the 
vital  processes  are  not  tense  with  emotion,  and  there  is 
therefore  little  conscious  realization  of  the  meaning  of 
what  is  being  said  with  much  vociferation  and  gesticulation. 
High  and  loud  tones  of  voice,  and  excited  flinging  of  the 
arms  and  stamping  of  the  feet  are  not  acceptable,  not  even 
pardonable,  except  as  the  expressions  of  genuine  emotions 
of  a  corresponding  intensity.  It  is  impossible  by  such  super- 
ficial means  to  conceal  the  deficiency  of  real  emotion,  for 


THE   EXCITATION   OF   FEELING  121 

genuine  feeling  has  other  and  finer  means  of  manifestation. 
The  organic  disturbances,  which  are  the  true  physical  coun- 
terpart of  conscious  feeling,  not  only  are  apparent  to  ob- 
servers, but  are  difficult  indeed  to  conceal.  These  are  re- 
vealed in  subtile  modulations  of  tone,  facial  expressions  and 
indefinite  bodily  tensions  which  can  hardly  be  analysed  and 
described  in  detail,  and  at  most  can  be  but  imperfectly 
imitated  at  will  even  by  the  most  consummate  art ;  but  can 
nevertheless  be  perceived  by  the  eyes  and  ears.  Especially 
can  those  whose  emotional  life  has  been  refined  and 
deepened  by  intellectual  culture  see  through  this  external 
show  of  emotion  and  perceive  as  by  a  sixth  sense  whether 
it  be  a  mere  hollow  mask  or  a  bona  fide  expression  of  gen- 
uine and  vital  processes.  They  whose  emotional  life  is 
crude,  who  are  susceptible  only  to  the  grosser  emotions, 
respond  more  readily  to  mere  loudness  and  violence  of  de- 
livery; but  the  excitement  thus  communicated  to  them  is 
mainly  physical,  as  is  that  which  awakens  it,  and  consists 
mainly  of  the  reflex  or  instinctive  twitching  of  the  nerves 
without  much  conscious  appreciation  of  the  ideas  presented. 
This  is  characteristic  of  the  emotional  experience  of  the 
ignorant  and  rude  —  the  kind  of  emotional  experiences  of 
which  they  are  most  capable ;  and  doubtless  this  is  the  reason 
why  speakers  who  are  successful  with  audiences  of  this 
grade  of  culture  almost  invaribly  fall  into  the  use  of  this 
method,  while  speakers  acceptable  to  audiences  of  higher 
culture  always  use  less  violence  in  delivery.  There  is 
noticeable  a  sort  of  natural  selection  of  speakers  on  this 
principle  for  various  types  of  audiences. 

But  while  the  manner  of  delivery  should  have  a  certain 
adaptation  to  the  audience,  it  is  a  sound  rule  to  guard 
against  "  beating  the  air,"  i.e.,  against  excessive  or  dispro- 
portionate gesticulation  and  vociferation.  Every  feeling, 
and  every  grade  of  intensity  of  every  feeling,  has  its  appro- 
priate and  proportionate  expression  in  voice  and  gesture, 
and  all  beyond  that  is  not  only  wasted  energy  on  the  part 
of  the  speaker  but  is  likely  to  cause  a  revulsion  of  feeling 


122  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

on  the  part  of  an  audience.  Each  audience  will  bear  or  will 
require  more  or  less  of  it,  according  to  its  average  level  of 
culture;  but  in  every  case  there  is  a  limit  beyond  which  it 
becomes  intolerable.  But  apart  from  the  grade  of  culture 
of  the  audience,  there  is  a  second  important  qualifying  con- 
dition. Even  the  casual  observer  must  have  noted  the  fact 
that  a  large  assembly  calls  for  higher  tones  of  voice  and 
more  vigorous  gesticulation  than  a  small  gathering,  and  the 
speaker  will  by  a  sort  of  instinct  use  them.  Higher  tones  of 
voice  are,  of  course,  necessary  simply  in  order  to  be  heard, 
and  as  there  is  a  natural  correlation  of  the  tones  of  the  voice 
with  gestures,  the  higher  pitch  of  voice  is  almost  inevitably 
accompanied  by  more  vigorous  gesticulation.  And  there  is 
not  only  need  of  louder  tones  in  order  to  be  heard,  but  of 
more  ample  physical  movements  in  order  to  be  adequately 
seen.  This,  however,  is  not  the  whole  explanation.  In  a 
great  mass  of  people  the  emotional  situation  is  more  in- 
tense,1 and  this  naturally  affects  the  speaker,  intensifying 
his  emotions,  which  normally  find  vent  in  more  emphatic 
and  excited  modes  of  expression.  A  third  qualification  of 
the  rule  should  also  be  noted.  Much  depends  upon  the 
speaker's  temperamental  peculiarities.  His  nervous  system 
may  be  so  organized  that  he  tends  naturally  to  over-do,  or 
—  what  is  almost  as  bad  —  under-do  vociferation  and  ges- 
ticulation. Either  defect  should,  of  course,  be  corrected  as 
far  as  possible  by  stern  self-discipline  under  the  direction 
of  a  competent  instructor  in  expression.  But  all  qualifying 
conditions  aside,  the  rule  is  a  safe  one  —  avoid  excessive 
vociferation  and  gesticulation.  Restraint  of  a  tendency  to 
free  expression  of  feeling  in  these  ways,  if  it  be  manifestly 
the  exercise  of  self-control,  and  not  timidity  or  embarrass- 
ment, heightens  the  effect  upon  intelligent  hearers,  because 
it  increases  the  internal  organic  tension  in  the  speaker  and 
produces  a  similar  effect  upon  the  observers.  For  the  prin- 
ciple is  that,  so  far  as  emotional  effects  are  concerned,2  the 

1  See  Chapter  on  Assemblies. 

2  Of  course,  the  voice  and  gesture  have  another  use  besides  the 


THE   EXCITATION    OF   FEELING  123 

only  function  of  tone  and  gesture  is  to  aid  in  inducing  in 
the  hearer  the  organic  tensions  with  which  the  conscious 
side  of  feeling  is  always  linked. 

Let  us  now  turn  to  note  the  distinction  between  arousing 
feeling  by  dramatic  action  and  by  the  simple  expression  of  it 
in  voice  and  gesture.  Dramatic  action  involves,  of  course, 
the  use  of  voice  and  gesture;  but  its  function  is  to  enable 
the  hearer  or  spectator  to  see  mentally  the  actions  of  a  per- 
son or  persons  not  actually  present.  It  is  representative  ac- 
tion ;  and  as  such  is  a  very  effective  means  of  arousing  emo- 
tion. But  it  aims  not  so  much  at  communicating  the 
emotion  of  the  speaker  or  actor  —  though  it  usually 
does  this  —  as  at  enabling  the  audience  to  witness  the 
actions,  with  their  accompanying  emotions,  of  other  persons 
who  are  not  really  present,  and  to  experience  in  some  meas- 
ure the  feelings  which  would  be  aroused  by  witnessing  the 
actual  performance  of  the  actions.  Of  course,  as  it  ap- 
proaches perfection  it  tends  to  produce  the  illusion  of 
reality  or  actuality.  This  is  the  ideal  of  the  actor;  though 
it  is  doubtful  whether  it  is  ever  realized  except  momentarily. 
However  great  and  however  sustained  may  be  the  power  of 
the  actor,  it  is  doubtful  whether  he  can  banish  from  the 
back-ground  of  the  spectator's  consciousness  the  realization 
of  the  fact  that  he  is  not  the  person  represented,  and  there 
are  inevitable  incidents  upon  the  stage  that  hinder  the  com- 
plete consummation  of  the  illusion.  Our  concern,  however, 
is  not  with  the  professional  actor,  but  with  the  dramatic  ac- 
tion of  the  orator.  Certainly  the  illusion  of  actuality  in  his 
representation  is  not  to  be  expected,  perhaps  not  to  be 
desired.  Dramatic  action  in  the  orator  is  like  a  sketch  in 
art;  it  is  an  outline,  with  details  omitted,  of  the  situation 
and  action  represented,  giving  just  enough  to  enable  the 
imagination  of  the  hearer  easily  to  complete  the  scene. 
Often  the  actor  himself  does  no  more.  Possibly  this  is 

excitation  of  feeling.  It  is  obvious  that  they  have  an  important 
function  in  the  communication  of  ideas.  They  express  thought  as 
well  as  feeling. 


124  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

the  reason  why  the  actor  at  times  does  not  feel  adequately 
the  emotion  which  he  portrays.  He  may  give  by  the  use  of 
voice  and  gesture  only  the  rough  draft,  so  to  speak,  of  the 
situation  or  action  which  he  represents,  with  little  of  the 
internal  physical  accompaniments  of  the  emotion  and  so 
with  little  consciousness  of  the  corresponding  feeling-tones. 
It  is  possible  thus  to  awaken  in  the  spectator,  whose  imag- 
ination completes  the  scene,  a  more  intense  feeling-tone  than 
he  himself  has.  As  a  rule,  however,  it  is  certain  that  the 
actor  or  orator  will  arouse  no  more  feeling  in  an  audience 
than  he  experiences.  If  his  own  imagination  does  not  ade- 
quately realize  the  scene,  his  sketchy  portrayal  of  it  will 
hardly  be  accurate  enough  to  stimulate  the  imagination  of 
the  hearer  to  realize  it  with  sufficient  vividness.  And  if  his 
own  soul  is  stirred  he  will  communicate  emotion  as  well  as 
induce  it  through  the  activity  of  the  hearer's  imagination. 

But  it  is  better  for  the  orator  not  to  be  too  realistic  in 
dramatic  action.  He  is  not  an  actor.  Opinions  will  prob- 
ably differ,  but  it  is  the  author's  conviction  that  the  preacher 
should  not  aim  at  producing  the  illusion  of  actuality  in  the 
portrayal  of  scenes  and  actions.  The  attempt  is  likely  to 
prove  dismally  abortive ;  for  he  is  not  trained  for  it  and  has 
not,  as  the  actor  has,  the  scenery  of  the  stage  which  is 
intended  to  aid  in  producing  the  illusion.  Moreover,  he  is 
normally  and  usually  aiming  not  simply  at  high  emotional 
effects,  but  at  immediate  action  or  decision ;  and  the  drama- 
tism  which  is  so  realistic  as  to  produce  the  illusion  of  ac- 
tuality will  probably  stir  an  emotion  of  too  high  an  inten- 
sity to  lead  to  thoroughly  rational  determination  —  and  this 
the  preacher  should  avoid.  And  yet  in  this  respect  most 
preaching  errs  by  deficiency  rather  than  by  excess.  The 
average  preacher  is  sadly  lacking  in  dramatic  power.  How 
many  sermons,  otherwise  good,  are  wanting  in  power  be- 
cause the  preacher  utterly  fails  to  make  men,  incidents, 
situations  embodying  the  truths  he  is  seeking  to  impress,  live 
before  his  hearers !  Thrilling  actions  and  events  are  re- 
lated without  appropriate  —  and  perhaps  with  quite  inap- 


THE   EXCITATION    OF   FEELING 

propriate  —  dramatic  action.  At  best,  the  imagination  of  the 
audience  is  not  assisted  in  the  emotional  realization  of  the 
scene ;  and  sometimes  is  actually  hindered  by  the  blundering, 
unsympathetic  presentation.  Such  preaching  may  be  "  di- 
dactic," but  is  certainly  not  dynamic.  It  may  be  instructional 
in  form,  but  is  not  instructive  in  fact.  If  the  preacher  were 
only  a  pedagogue,  such  a  method  would  be  unsuited  to  his 
task,  for  Psychology  has  taught  us  that  "  dry  "  presentation 
is  not  good  pedagogy.  But  he  is  not  in  a  class  room ;  he  is 
before  a  congregation,  and  there  dramatic  action  is  an  ele- 
ment of  power  without  which  he  can  rarely  be  effective. 

2.  There  is  available  for  the  speaker  another  very  effec- 
tive means  of  arousing  emotion  in  an  audience  —  style,  or 
the  skilful  use  of  language.  The  use  of  language  is  a  large 
subject,  and  the  purpose  here  is  to  consider  it  solely  as  a 
means  of  exciting  emotion.  With  reference  to  its  possible 
emotional  effects  let  us  emphasize,  first,  the  necessity  of 
"  pictorial  "  language. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  a  fact  of  common  experience,  and 
stressed  in  all  the  books  on  Rhetoric,  that  images  of  con- 
crete things  and  situations  are  most  effective  in  this  respect. 
The  reason  is  that  it  is  concrete  things  and  situations  which 
form  the  staple  of  our  primary  experiences.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  a  relatively  few  who  are  devoted  to  philosophical 
pursuits,  the  very  substance  of  life  is  the  experience  of  con- 
crete realities.  We  are  helped  in  this  by  general  and  ab- 
stract ideas,  which  have  been  aptly  termed  "  condensed  ex- 
perience," but  primarily  experience  is  the  interaction  be- 
tween the  human  organism  and  actual  things  and  persons. 
To  the  philosopher  generalizations  and  abstractions  may  be 
the  realities  with  which  he  is  most  intimately  concerned,  and 
by  means  of  them  comparatively  strong  feelings  may  be 
stirred  in  him ;  but  not  so  with  ordinary  persons.  The  gen- 
eralized and  abstract  formulations  of  experience  count  for 
little  in  their  lives.  The  generalization  is  general  because  in 
it  the  particular  images  are  no  longer  realized  as  such ;  and 
the  abstraction  is  abstract  because  it  is  detached  from  things 


126  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

in  their  concrete  individualities.  The  feeling-tones  con- 
nected with  them  are,  therefore,  in  most  minds  very  slight 
—  too  pale  and  thin  to  be  considerable  factors  in  their 
emotional  life,  too  weak  to  have  important  influence  upon 
their  actions  and  attitudes.  While,  then,  there  are  indi- 
vidual differences  due  to  native  peculiarities  and  to  habits 
acquired  in  experience,  the  rule  is  that  the  more  detailed, 
vivid,  realistic  the  mental  images  are,  the  more  intense  will 
be  the  feelings  they  will  arouse.  Compare,  for  instance, 
the  different  intensity  of  the  feelings  aroused  by  the  state- 
ment, "  a  man  was  run  down  and  killed  on  the  street  by  an 
automobile  " ;  and  the  more  detailed  statement,  "  John  Smith 
was  run  down  and  killed  on  Fourth  Avenue  this  morning  by 
Henry  Jones'  automobile."  In  the  latter,  the  scene  is  more 
vividly  reproduced  by  the  imagination ;  the  intensity  of  the 
emotion  aroused  is  more  nearly  equal  to  that  which  the  ac- 
tual sight  of  the  event  would  excite.  Especially  will  this  be 
true  if  John  Smith  and  Henry  Jones  are  names  of  persons  of 
your  acquaintance,  and  not  mere  symbols  which  convey 
vague  generic  images  of  two  men.  Still  more  intense 
would  be  the  emotion  if  further  details  were  given  as  to  the 
hour,  the  exact  spot  on  Fourth  Avenue  where  it  took  place, 
supposing,  of  course,  the  hearer  to  be  familiar  with  that 
street.  The  rule  for  the  speaker  is,  therefore,  be  concrete, 
vivid,  realistic;  give  specific  details;  stimulate  the  imag- 
ination of  the  hearer  to  reproduce  the  scene. 

But  some  qualifications  of  this  rule  should  be  made.  The 
speaker  may  give  too  many  details.  Even  the  simplest  ob- 
jects are  very  complex.  In  the  description  of  a  horse,  a 
man,  a  tree,  details  may  be  multiplied  until  the  most  capable 
imagination  is  completely  swamped  and  no  definite  image 
at  all  is  conveyed.  Speakers  not  unfrequently  err  in  this 
way.  Our  mental  images  are  more  or  less  sketchy  repro- 
ductions of  our  perceptions.  But  even  in  perception  one 
does  not  take  in  all  the  details  of  an  object.  If  he  did  he 
would  spend  his  whole  life  upon  a  comparatively  few  ob- 
jects. In  perception  he  notes  only  a  few  characteristic 


THE   EXCITATION    OF   FEELING  127 

qualities  or  features  of  an  object,  and  the  mental  image 
never  reproduces  these  in  full.  If  this  be  true  of  the  single 
object,  how  much  more  true  is  it  of  situations  and  occur- 
rences which  involve  several  or  many  objects  in  their  rela- 
tions to  one  another?  How  mistaken  it  is,  then,  for  a 
speaker  in  describing  an  object  or  a  scene,  or  in  relating  an 
occurrence,  to  over-load  his  description  or  narration  with 
a  mass  of  details  which  even  the  attention  of  an  observer 
would  neglect  as  unimportant!  He  must  select.  He  has 
use  for  only  a  few  significant  or  "  telling  "  details ;  and  it  is 
in  the  selection  that  the  narrator  shows  his  skill,  or  lack  of 
it.  He  should  first  form  a  definite  conception  of  the  whole 
incident  or  history,  its  general  meaning,  and  the  particular 
meaning  or  lesson  he  purposes  to  draw  from  it;  and  then 
select  the  details  with  respect  to  that.  It  is  an  art  of  high 
order,  and  might  almost  as  well  be  called  the  art  of  omis- 
sion. And  if  the  incident  has  been  witnessed  by  the  nar- 
rator, it  involves  the  art  of  observation,  in  which  men  have 
very  unequal  skill. 

It  is  possible  for  the  narrator  of  an  event  to  stir  in  a 
hearer  who  witnessed  it  a  more  definite,  if  not  a  more  in- 
tense, emotion  than  the  sight  of  it  aroused ;  for  the  mind  of 
the  witness  may  have  been  confused  or  for  some  reason  may 
have  overlooked  significant  details,  which  the  narrator 
brings  to  his  attention.  This  leads  us  to  consider  a  second 
qualification  of  the  rule.  The  description  of  an  object  or 
the  narration  of  an  event  is  also  its  interpretation.  Much 
depends  upon  the  relative  emphasis  upon  the  details.  Any 
occurrence  may  be  related  in  such  ways  as  to  give  very 
various  impressions  of  its  meaning  and  evoke  quite  different 
or  opposite  emotions.  An  artful  narrator  may  emphasize 
really  insignificant  aspects  of  an  occurrence  and  thus  dis- 
tort its  real  significance.  Or,  if  stressing  only  significant 
aspects,  he  may  over-emphasize  some  and  under-emphasize 
others,  and  arouse  a  corresponding  feeling.  Therefore, 
conscientious  speakers  —  and  in  this  class  all  preachers  cer- 
tainly ought  to  be  included  —  will,  in  seeking  to  arouse  feel- 


128  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

ing  by  description  and  narration,  strive  not  only  for  con- 
creteness  and  vividness  but  also  for  truth,  and  will  disdain 
the  artful  method  of  misrepresentation  to  produce  desired 
emotional  effects. 

A  third  qualification  is  that  the  speaker  should  in  detailed 
description  and  narration  have  respect  to  the  mental  atti- 
tudes and  states  of  his  hearers.  He  may  with  the  best  inten- 
tion introduce  details  which,  while  unimportant  to  the  true 
interpretation  of  the  incident,  will  spoil  the  effect  by  excit- 
ing in  some  of  his  hearers  a  feeling  quite  different  from  that 
which  he  intends ;  and  a  story  which  will  call  forth  one  emo- 
tion in  one  person  may  stir  a  very  different  one  in  others. 
To  many  persons  the  stories  of  the  sayings  and  doings  of 
drunken  men  are  very  amusing ;  to  others  they  may  be  dis- 
gusting, and  to  some  who  have  had  tragical  experiences  in 
connection  therewith,  they  may  be  inexpressibly  painful. 
Mr.  Wyche,  president  of  the  American  Story  Tellers' 
League,  says  he  found  that  "  Uncle  Remus' "  stories,  so  ir- 
resistibly humorous  to  audiences  of  White  people,  were  not 
well  received  by  Negro  audiences,  because  the  negroes  in- 
terpreted them  as  a  sort  of  reflection  on  their  race. 

(2)  But  there  is  another  quality  of  style  which  is  of  great 
importance  in  arousing  feeling.  Rhythm  of  speech  is 
hardly  inferior  to  the  pictorial  quality  of  the  words  as  a 
means  of  kindling  feeling.  The  whole  universe  of  expe- 
rience—  i.e.,  the  universe  as  experienced  —  is  rhythmical. 
There  are  recurring  periods  in  the  solar  system.  The  year, 
the  month,  the  day,  each  has  its  periodicity.  There  are 
longer  and  shorter  rhythms  in  the  history  of  mankind,  and 
each  human  life  has  rhythms,  and  rhythms  within  rhythms. 
The  vibrations  of  atoms ;  the  waves  of  ether  which  cause  the 
sensations  of  light,  and  of  the  atmosphere  which  cause 
sound ;  the  movements  of  the  winds,  of  the  waters  of  the 
sea;  the  variations  of  the  weather;  geological  periods  and 
cycles  of  climatic  change  —  all  are  rhythmical.  Rhythm 
runs  through  all  things  which  come  within  the  scope  of 
man's  experience.  His  mental  processes  are  rhythmical; 


THE   EXCITATION   OF   FEELING 

and  it  is  just  possible  that  these  mental  rhythms  are  the  ex- 
planation of  the  rhythmical  character  of  the  universe  of  his 
experience.  These  mental  rhythms  seem  to  be  closely  re- 
lated to  the  attention  waves  and  are,  therefore,  helpful  in 
thinking.  But  doubtless  no  part  of  our  mental  life  is  so 
completely  responsive  to  and  dependent  upon  rhythm  as  our 
emotional  experiences.  We  tend  to  read  rhythm  into  every 
series  of  sensations,  no  matter  how  devoid  of  periodicity  it 
may  be.  A  series  which  is  unrhythmical  is  inevitably  un- 
pleasant, and  if  we  cannot  read  into  it  some  regularity  of 
recurring  periods  it  soon  becomes  intolerable.  And  to 
every  sort  of  rhythm  our  nature  responds  in  feeling-tones  of 
some  intensity,  i.e.,  if  it  coincides  even  approximately  with 
the  peculiar  rhythms  of  our  own  organism.  For,  while 
there  are  certain  fundamental  and  universal  rhythms  to 
which  all  human  organisms  respond,  each  individual  doubt- 
less has  his  own  peculiarities  in  this  respect,  as  in  all  others. 
The  reason  for  the  emotional  responsiveness  to  this  par- 
ticular type  of  stimuli  is,  perhaps,  to  be  looked  for  in  the 
constitution  and  operation  of  the  vital  organs  of  the  body. 
No  part  of  the  body  is  so  completely  subject  to  regular 
alternations  of  tension  and  relaxation  as  these  organs;  no 
other  functions  proceed  with  such  rhythmical  regularity; 
and  possibly  for  this  reason  no  other  part  of  our  muscula- 
ture is  so  sensitive  to  stimulations  of  this  kind.  This  may 
be  fanciful,  but,  at  any  rate,  the  parts  of  our  musculature 
which  control  the  activity  of  these  organs  seem  to  be  most 
immediately  and  powerfully  affected  by  such  stimuli.  A 
series  of  sounds  following  each  other  in  a  simple  rhythm, 
though  they  may  not  have  been  heard  before  and  are  asso- 
ciated with  no  ideas,  will,  by  the  reaction  which  they  set 
up  within  those  parts  of  the  nervous  system  immediately 
related  to  the  vital  processes,  evoke  emotional  responses  of 
some  intensity,  which  in  turn  call  up  more  or  less  definite 
mental  images. 

As  stated  above,  different  persons  vary  by  nature  in  their 
responsiveness  to  rhythms,  no  doubt  on  account  of  variations 


130  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

in  the  constitution  of  their  nervous  systems.  All  normal 
persons  seem  to  be  responsive  in  some  measure  to  the  simple 
meters,  though  not  all  equally.  As  the  rhythms  become 
more  complex  wide  differences  of  natural  susceptibility  be- 
come apparent.  Some  are  by  nature  readily  responsive  to 
very  complex  rhythms,  as  the  born  musicians  and  lovers  of 
music,  who  are  lifted  into  ecstasy  by  involved  harmonies 
which  to  ordinary  hearers  are  only  endless  tangles  of  notes. 
Being  beyond  the  range  of  their  responsiveness,  such  har- 
monies are  to  hearers  of  the  latter  class  likely  to  be  dis- 
agreeable because  the  rhythms  are  too  complex  for  their 
ears.  However,  within  the  limits  of  natural  capability  it  is 
a  matter  of  education.  By  constant  exercise  and  training 
the  naturally  dull  may  learn  to  enjoy  to  some  extent  the 
complicated  harmonies  of  great  classical  productions.  The 
same  is  true  of  poetry,  which  in  its  origin  was  not  clearly 
differentiated  from,  and  in  its  whole  development  has  been 
closely  related  to,  music.  The  two  arts  are,  for  obvious 
reasons,  of  the  utmost  importance  to  the  emotional  life. 
The  music  and  hymns  of  religion,  of  patriotism  and  of  the 
simpler  personal  relations  and  experiences,  have  played  a 
great,  doubtless  the  dominant,  role  in  the  development  and 
culture  of  the  emotions.  Their  significance  and  value  can 
hardly  be  overestimated.  Through  them  chiefly  the  great 
sentiments,  which  are  the  most  powerful  factors  in  the  in- 
spiration, direction  and  control  of  human  conduct,  have  been 
organized.  It  is  questionable  whether  those  who  compose 
a  people's  music  and  poetry,  especially  its  songs,  do  not 
exert  a  greater  influence  upon  its  destinies  than  those  who 
formulate  its  religious  and  political  creeds. 

But  our  concern  now  is  not  with  music  and  poetry,  com- 
manding as  are  their  functions  in  human  life,  but  with 
public  speech,  in  which  rhythm  is  a  most  important  element. 
In  speech  there  is,  first,  a  rhythm  of  the  words  themselves. 
On  this  it  is  necessary  to  dwell  only  for  a  moment.  Some 
words  are,  when  pronounced,  harsh,  awkward,  unrhythmical. 
They  offend  the  ear;  they  grate  upon  the  nerves.  They 


THE   EXCITATION    OF   FEELING  13! 

may  be  respectable  words  and  convey  definite  and  accurate 
meanings ;  but  for  them  the  speaker  has,  as  a  rule,  only  one 
use.  If  he  can  utilize  them  so  as  to  connect  the  unpleasant 
feeling-tones  which  they  arouse  with  some  idea  or  object 
against  which  he  wishes  to  create  a  feeling-disposition,  well 
and  good.  For  that  purpose  they  are  very  serviceable,  and 
the  skilful  orator  will  hold  them  in  reserve  for  that  alone. 
Now  and  then,  to  be  sure,  a  speaker  whose  words  are  usually 
soft  and  mellifluous  may  use  those  of  unpleasant  sound  as  a 
musician  does  his  discords,  to  emphasize  the  beauty  of  his 
normal  speech ;  but  otherwise  he  should  bar  the  door  of  his 
lips  against  them. 

More  important  is  the  arrangement  of  words  and  clauses 
in  sentences.  Sentence  rhythm  is,  in  part,  a  matter  of  the 
collocation  of  words  in  such  a  way  that  they  follow  one  an- 
other easily  in  pronunciation,  flow  into  one  another  without 
bringing  two  inharmonious  sounds  together.  This  gives 
fluency  of  style,  which  is  very  pleasing.  But  of  equal  if  not 
greater  significance  are  the  number  of  predications  in  the 
sentence  and  the  alternation  of  short  and  long  sentences.  It 
is  an  interesting  fact  that  each  speaker  or  writer  has  his  own 
average  number  of  predications  in  a  sentence,  his  own  aver- 
age length  of  sentences,  and  his  own  average  alternation 
of  long  and  short  sentences.  For  instance,  a  close  examina- 
tion of  Macaulay's  writing  shows  that  the  average  number 
of  predications  in  the  sentences  of  his  entire  History  of 
England  is  2 : 30.  The  average  length  of  the  sentences  is 
23 : 43  words ;  and  there  is  an  average  of  thirty-four  simple 
sentences  to  every  hundred.1  These  peculiarities  seem  to  be 
connected  with  one's  emotional  organization  and  to  indicate 
very  accurately  the  emotional  rhythms  of  his  personality; 
though  they  are,  of  course,  in  some  measure  subject  to  modi- 
fication through  culture.  And  yet  if  any  man's  written  or 
spoken  productions  be  examined,  these  proportions  are  so 
constant  and  general  that  they  must  indicate  an  organization 
of  the  emotional  nature  so  fundamental  that  they  can  only 

1  See  Scott's  "  Psychology  of  Public  Speaking,"  pp.  136-7. 


132  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

in  a  measure  be  changed.  To  force  a  radical  change,  were 
it  practicable,  would  most  probably  result  in  a  strained 
artificiality  of  style  which  would  be  very  unpleasant.  He 
can,  however,  develop  these  qualities  of  style,  which  he  can- 
not fundamentally  change ;  can  so  cultivate  himself  that  the 
peculiar  rhythm  of  style  which  naturally  flows  from  his 
emotional  organization  may  find  its  purest  and  most  ade- 
quate expression.  By  the  general  culture  of  his  inner  life, 
i.e.,  by  developing  his  capacity  of  feeling  until  he  acquires 
the  power  to  realize  with  proper  intensity  a  wider  range  of 
the  feelings  normal  to  man,  he  may  doubtless  modify  to  a 
considerable  extent  the  fundamental  emotional  trends  of  his 
nature,  and  in  this  way  largely  influence  his  style,  so  that 
it  will  be  more  responsive  to  various  emotional  rhythms. 

Important  also  is  the  structure  of  the  sentence,  as  simple 
or  involved,  periodic  or  loose  and  straggling.1  Each,  of 
course,  has  his  own  penchant  for  involution  or  simplicity  in 
the  construction  of  sentences;  but  this,  it  would  appear,  is 
less  deeply  rooted  in  his  psychological  constitution,  is  more  a 
matter  of  intellectual  habit  and  can,  therefore,  be  more 
easily  modified  by  practice  than  his  tendency  to  use  sentences 
of  a  certain  length,  containing  a  certain  number  of  predica- 
tions, or  than  his  tendency  to  use  a  certain  proportion  of 
long  and  short  sentences.  One  can  by  mechanically  work- 
ing over  his  sentences  relieve  them  of  obscurity  and  invo- 
lution; and  by  constant  attention,  correct  this  fault  in  his 
spoken  language  until  he  becomes  master  of  a  clear  and 
simple  style.  But  if  he  tries  in  this  way  to  effect  a  funda- 
mental change  in  the  peculiarities  of  his  style  mentioned 
above,  he  will  either  fail  altogether  or  end  by  deforming  his 
own  characteristic  mode  of  expression  without  acquiring 
facility  in  another. 

3.  Now,  in  conclusion,  it  is  apparent  that  there  should  be 

1  Reference  here  may  be  made  to  any  standard  work  on  Rhetoric. 
See  a  good  discussion  of  the  structure  of  sentences  in  Broadus' 
"  Preparation  and  Delivery  of  Sermons,"  pp.  375-6,  386-8.  A  good 
discussion  of  this  matter  from  the  psychological  point  of  view  may 
be  found  in  Scott's  "  Psychology  of  Public  Speaking,"  Chap.  VIII. 


THE   EXCITATION   OF   FEELING  133 

harmony  between  the  emotions  evoked  by  the  three  types  of 
emotional  stimuli  we  have  discussed,  viz.,  rhythm  of  style, 
images  or  ideas,  and  the  manner  of  delivery.  If  there  is  dis- 
harmony between  the  emotions  awakened  by  these  several 
forms  of  stimuli,  the  result  will  be  that  the  inharmonious 
emotions  will  tend  to  cancel  one  another ;  and  the  effect  will 
be  reduced,  or  may  be  rendered  altogether  unpleasant.  It  is 
perhaps  not  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  every  feeling  or 
general  class  of  feelings,  either  simple  or  complex  —  such  as 
love,  hate,  joy,  sorrow,  indignation,  reverence,  admiration, 
contrition,  hope,  fear,  etc.,  etc. —  has  not  only  its  appropriate 
ideational  or  imaginal  stimuli  and  its  suitable  expression  in 
tones,  gestures  and  poses  of  the  body,  but  also  its  peculiar 
rhythms.  Hence  it  is  that  nearly  all  men  find  it  easy  to  give  a 
proper  rendering  of  some  emotions  and  to  awaken  them  in 
the  hearer;  and  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  express  and 
awaken  others.  Napoleon  was  a  genius  in  stirring  the 
martial  feelings  in  his  soldiers,  but  doubtless  would  have 
found  it  impossible  to  melt  them  to  tears  of  compassion  for 
the  suffering  and  dying.  Each  man  has  his  particular  emo- 
tional vein,  and  has  a  corresponding  control  of  that  class  of 
feelings  in  others.  Some  orators  have  an  extraordinary 
command  of  pathos ;  others  of  humour  —  and  these  are  often 
found  together;  others  are  witty,  and  find  it  easy  to  kindle 
with  that  divine  spark  the  emotion  of  pleasant  surprise; 
others  awaken  with  ease  aggressive  self-feeling,  and  stir 
their  hearers  to  combat  or  achievement ;  others  have  a  genius 
for  consolation,  and  comfort  the  sorrowing ;  others  are 
prone  to  fan  the  flames  of  anger;  others  bear  us  up  on  the 
currents  of  lofty  aspiration;  others  speak,  and  the  tumul- 
tuous impulses  of  the  heart  sink  into  an  unrippled  calm,  like 
the  waves  of  Galilee  under  the  command  of  Jesus.  It  is 
well  that  there  is  such  a  variety  in  the  emotional  power  of 
speakers.  But  it  is  fortunate  when  a  speaker  has  a  variously 
responsive  soul  and  can  touch  the  whole  gamut  of  human 
feelings,  as  some  rarely  gifted  men  seem  able  to  do.  Too 
often  the  preacher  is  limited  in  the  range  of  his  emotional  ap- 


134  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

peals.  If  he  relates  in  vivid  imagery  the  most  pathetic  inci- 
dent, the  style  and  delivery  are  too  vigorous  and  strident  and 
the  effect  is  either  lost  or  is  positively  disagreeable.  Or  he 
may  wish  to  arouse  in  his  hearers  a  martial  ardour  and  send 
them  forth  to  storm  the  strong-holds  of  evil,  and  there  is  no 
fight  in  his  style  and  his  delivery  suggests  a  retreat  rather 
than  a  charge.  Doubtless  this  is  one  of  the  main  reasons 
why  the  people  soon  tire  of  a  preacher,  and  for  him  a  change 
of  pastorates  becomes  the  chief  desideratum.  The  emotional 
life  of  the  congregation  starves.  If  it  is  one  of  the  principal 
functions  of  preaching  to  cultivate  the  sentiments,  the  emo- 
tional dispositions,  of  the  people  and  organize  their  emo- 
tional life  around  great  ethical  and  spiritual  principles, 
surely  the  preacher  should  strive  to  acquire  the  largest  pos- 
sible command  of  the  means  by  which  feelings  of  the  most 
various  types  may  be  aroused. 


CHAPTER  VII 

BELIEF 

ATTENTION  has  been  called  to  the  fact  that  anything  pre- 
sented to  a  mind  is  accepted  as  real  without  hesitation  or 
questioning  unless  there  is  something  in  the  experience  or 
the  organization  of  that  mind  which  opposes  it.  There 
seems,  however,  to  be  one  limiting  condition.  In  order  to 
make  clear  what  that  is  let  us  use  one  of  Prof.  James* 
illustrations.  "  Suppose,"  he  says,  "  a  new-born  mind,  en- 
tirely blank  and  waiting  for  experience  to  begin.  Suppose 
that  it  begins  in  the  form  of  a  visual  impression  of  a  lighted 
candle  against  a  dark  background  and  nothing  else,  so  that 
while  this  image  lasts  it  constitutes  the  entire  universe 
known  to  the  mind  in  question.  Suppose,  moreover,  that 
the  candle  is  only  imaginary  and  that  no  '  original '  of  it  is 
recognized  by  us  Psychologists  outside.  .  .  .  Will  this  hal- 
lucinatory candle  be  believed  in,  will  it  have  a  real  existence 
for  the  mind?"1 

Now,  this  question  he  answers  in  the  affirmative.  But  in 
this  he  is,  it  seems  to  me,  manifestly  mistaken.  In  the  first 
place,  it  involves  an  error  to  speak  of  the  candle  in  such  a 
case  as  "  known/'  Knowledge  involves  consciousness  of 
relation,  and  this  implies  the  presence  of  two  or  more  images 
in  consciousness.  The  perception  of  relations,  or  any  an- 
alysis of  this  total  impression  into  its  constituent  elements, 
is  not  possible  before  there  have  been  present  to  conscious- 
ness more  than  one  presentation.  Indeed,  if  we  can  legit- 
imately speak  of  "  consciousness  "  at  all  in  such  a  hypotheti- 
cal situation,  we  can  only  mean  a  primordial  and  undiffer- 

1 "  Principles  of  Psychology,"  Vol.  II,  p.  287. 

135 


136  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

entiated  psychical  state  which  really  precedes  conciousness 
in  any  clearly  denned  sense  of  the  word.  Knowledge,  in  any 
accurate  meaning  of  the  term,  is  inapplicable  here  and  so  is 
belief.  The  child  would  neither  accept  nor  reject  the  pres- 
entation—  it  would  be  neither  real  nor  unreal.  To  speak 
of  the  child's  accepting  it  as  real  or  rejecting  it  as  unreal 
is  to  attribute  to  the  child  our  own  mental  processes.  To 
say  that  because  the  child  does  not  reject  the  candle-impres- 
sion as  unreal  it  accepts  it  as  real,  is  to  assume  that  the 
logical  category  of  contradiction  applies  to  that  primordial 
mental  experience,  that  the  child  is  conscious  of  the  relation 
of  images  to  one  another,  whereas  by  hypothesis  this  is  the 
single  and  sole  image  which  has  entered  into  its  experience. 
For  the  mental  act  or  attitude  of  belief  to  occur  it  is  neces- 
sary that  there  should  have  been  more  than  one  experience, 
more  than  one  image,  more  than  a  simple  and  undiffer- 
entiated  mental  content ;  and  that  a  beginning  at  least  should 
have  been  made  in  the  organization  or  correlation  of  those 
contents  —  a  process  which  goes  on  very  rapidly  in  the  life 
of  the  child. 

Whenever,  then,  the  mind's  reaction  to  a  stimulus  is  suf- 
ficiently definite  to  be  called  belief  or  unbelief  it  is  con- 
ditioned by  the  present  mental  content  and  organization. 
"  Possession  is  nine  points  of  the  law  "  is  a  saw  which  has 
as  much  validity  in  the  psychological  as  in  the  economic 
realm.  The  mind  reacts  as  a  whole  upon  a  new  presenta- 
tion. In  more  abstract  phrase  we  may  say  that  the  appro- 
priation of  new  mental  material  is  a  function  of  the  mind  as 
previously  organised.  After  the  new  material  has  been  in- 
corporated into  the  mental  system  it  then  plays  its  part  also 
in  determining  the  mental  attitude  toward  subsequent  pres- 
entations. 

I.  There  are  as  many  as  six  distinguishable  ways  in 
which  the  mind  may  react  to  new  presentations. 

I.  First,  it  may  feel  itself  compelled  to  accept  the  new 
presentation  as  real  or  true.  It  is  helpless  before  the  pres- 
entation; cannot  resist  it.  There  may  be  no  perceived 


BELIEF  137 

opposition  between  the  presentation  and  the  mental  organ- 
ization and  consequently  no  impulse  to  reject  it,  and  no 
hesitation  in  accepting  it;  and  in  such  a  situation,  as  will 
later  be  pointed  out,  the  mind  cannot  reject  what  is  pre- 
sented to  it.  But  it  is  not  this  negative  inability  of  which  I 
now  speak.  The  characteristic  note  of  the  reaction  now 
under  consideration  is  that  the  presentation  has  a  positive 
and  compelling  character;  it  must  be  received;  it  not  only 
bears  credentials  which  entitle  it  to  be  believed,  but  it  comes 
too  strongly  armed  to  be  rejected.  It  may  be  in  large 
measure  inconsistent  with  the  mental  organization  in  both 
its  ideational  and  affective  elements,  but  so  much  the 
worse  for  the  mental  organization.  The  presentation  in  this 
case  necessitates  a  reorganization,  and  that  means,  of  course, 
that  it  is  disagreeable  and  would  be  rejected  if  that  were 
practicable.  There  may  arise  an  impulse  to  reject  it,  but  the 
sense  of  necessity  overwhelms  such  an  impulse  at  its  very 
birth;  the  presentation  asserts  itself  and  compels  belief, 
whether  or  no.  In  such  situations  the  mind  is  dealing  either 
with  presentations  of  the  sensory  type,  which  come  with  the 
clear  and  emphatic  testimony  of  the  senses;  or  with  those 
which  bear  the  stamp  of  logical  necessity,  such  as  mathemat- 
ical axioms  and  the  demonstrations  based  upon  them,  or  the 
principles  of  contradiction,  identity,  etc. 

We  shall  not  enter  here  into  the  question,  which  belongs 
to  the  theory  of  knowledge,  whether  or  not  these  axiomatic 
principles  themselves  have  an  empirical  origin.  If  their 
origin  should  be  accounted  for  in  that  way,  it  seems  evident 
that  at  any  rate  they  do  not  originate  in  the  experience  of 
the  present-day  individual,  though  doubtless  they  are  devel- 
oped, brought  into  conciousness,  through  individual  experi- 
ence. Certain  it  is  that  when  the  mind  is  confronted  by  the 
clear  testimony  of  the  senses  or  by  an  axiom,  it  feels  the 
necessity  of  accepting  such  a  presentation  as  real,  or  true, 
provided  it  occurs  in  harmony  with  the  conditions  under 
which  our  senses  normally  give  us  information  or  under 
which  our  minds  normally  act.  The  only  hesitation  or  ques- 


138  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

tion  which  we  feel  to  be  permissible  is  as  to  whether  the  con- 
ditions of  perception  are  normal.  If  we  are  convinced  that 
they  are  normal  it  puts  an  end  to  hesitation. 

Now,  should  this  mental  reaction  be  called  belief?  I 
think  so.  If  I  ask  why  I  thus  unhesitatingly  accept  the  tes- 
timony of  my  senses  or  the  truth  of  the  mathematical  axiom, 
the  only  answer  that  can  be  given  is  that  I  believe  my  senses 
give  a  correct  report  of  reality  or  that  I  believe  my  mind  is 
so  constituted  as  to  know  truth.  The  fact  that  this  belief  is 
developed  into  full  consciousness  in  philosophical  meditation 
after  the  experience  and  is  not  a  part  of  the  conscious  expe- 
rience at  the  moment  of  perception  makes  no  essential  dif- 
ference. It  was  implicit  in  the  act.  I  accept  and  must  ac- 
cept the  testimony  of  my  senses  or  the  truth  of  the  axiom 
when  such  a  presentation  is  made  under  normal  conditions ; 
but  this  necessity  does  not  change  its  character  as  belief. 

2.  The  mind  may  passively  admit  the  presentation  as 
true.  In  this  case  the  new  presentation,  being  not  of  the 
sensory  or  axiomatic  order,  does  not  call  forth  the  sense 
of  necessity.  It  does  not  in  any  positive  or  significant  way 
agree  with  the  already  existing  mental  content  or  organiza- 
tion. It  simply  does  not  consciously  conflict  with  anything 
in  the  mental  system.  It  is  simply  negative  with  respect  to 
the  present  mental  content.  So  far  as  what  is  already  in 
consciousness  is  concerned  there  is  no  positive  reason  for 
accepting  or  rejecting  it.  It  is  then  passively  admitted, 
taken  as  true.  It  finds  ample  room  in  the  world  of  belief 
as  constituted.  The  best  examples  of  this  kind  of  belief  are 
found  in  children.  The  child,  for  instance,  is  told  the  story 
of  Santa  Claus.  Its  limited  experience  contains  nothing 
that  is  inconsistent  with  the  story ;  it,  therefore,  accepts,  be- 
lieves it.  At  first  this  experience  may  be  thought  to  be 
identical  in  principle  with  that  described  in  James'  illustra- 
tion; but  this  would  be  a  mistake.  In  the  acceptance  of 
Santa  Claus  as  real  the  child  is  acting  with  an  already  organ- 
ized consciousness,  whereas  in  the  first  presentation  to  the 
new-born  babe  there  is  no  previous  experience,  no  organized 


BELIEF  139 

consciousness,  no  criteria  of  reality,  no  basis  for  the  forma- 
tion of  a  judgment  as  to  the  reality  or  unreality  of  any- 
thing. When  it  believes  in  the  existence  of  Santa  Glaus 
the  presentation  bears  some  relation  to  the  existing  content 
of  consciousness,  a  relation  which  may  be  described  as  nega- 
tive agreement,  and  any  presentation  which  bears  this  rela- 
tion to  its  experience  is  accepted  as  true.  But  in  James' 
illustration  there  is  no  relation  whatever  with  any  other 
content  of  the  mind  for  the  simple  reason  that  there  is  no 
other  content,  and  therefore  no  mental  attitude  of  belief 
such  as  is  here  described.  This  type  of  belief  may  well  be 
described  as  primitive  credulity.  Many  of  the  contents  of 
the  child's  mental  world  are  of  this  character.  Indeed,  to 
the  end  of  its  life,  though  it  may  grow  to  be  a  great  philos- 
opher with  an  extensive  and  critically  constructed  mental 
system,  many  of  its  beliefs  will  continue  to  be  of  this  order, 
accepted  simply  because  it  is  of  the  nature  of  the  mind  to 
accept  what  is  presented  to  it,  if  there  is  no  conscious  con- 
flict with  the  mental  life  as  previously  organized.  But  the 
building  up  of  an  elaborate  and  reflective  correlation  of  ex- 
perience establishes  a  habit  of  critical  examination,  which 
takes  the  form  of  intellectual  caution  and  which  is  applied, 
often  with  no  conscious  intention,  to  new  presentations, 
especially  in  the  sphere  of  one's  principal  activity  and  usually 
in  matters  of  incidental  interest ;  so  that,  as  a  general  rule, 
with  broadening  experience  credulity  becomes  a  diminish- 
ing factor  in  determining  beliefs.  But  it  is  an  extremely  im- 
portant factor  in  the  lives  of  children,  of  ignorant  persons 
and  of  all  persons  of  limited  experience. 

3.  The  mind  may  positively  receive  the  new  presentation, 
may  welcome  it  with  more  or  less  cordiality.  As  in  the 
second  case,  it  is  not  of  the  sensory  or  axiomatic  type.  It 
does  not  come  bearing  credentials  of  inherent  and  irresistible 
validity,  like  the  clear  testimony  of  the  senses  or  the  logical 
axiom.  But  though  it  is  not  in  itself  irresistible,  it  is  at  once 
felt  to  be  in  positive  agreement  with  the  existing  mental 
content.  It  fits  into  the  system.  With  more  or  less  definite- 


140  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

ness  it  is  perceived  to  dove-tail  into  the  mental  structure  so 
as  to  fill  out  in  some  measure  the  "  noetic  pattern,"  to  use  a 
phrase  of  Marshall's.  It  is  an  element  which  carries  a  step 
toward  fulfilment  the  incomplete  mental  organization. 
When  this  peculiar  experience  is  of  a  pronounced  type,  the 
new  presentation  is  felt  to  be  not  only  a  supplement  to  but 
a  confirmation  of  the  systern  of  ideas,  not  only  fitting  in  har- 
moniously with  it  but  bringing  to  it  an  increment  of  stabil- 
ity ;  and  is  accompanied,  therefore,  by  a  distinctly  pleasant 
feeling-tone.  So  to  speak,  the  mind  stretches  out  to  it  glad 
hands  of  welcome  and  ushers  it  into  a  room  which  seems 
prepared  for  it  beforehand, 

For  inducing  an  act  of  belief  like  this  it  is,  of  course,  only 
necessary  that  the  new  presentation  should  be  in  harmony 
with  the  content  of  consciousness  at  the  time.  There  may 
be  other  elements  of  experience  not  at  the  time  in  conscious- 
ness with  which  the  agreement  would  not  be  so  entire ;  and 
later  when  the  effort  is  made  to  bring  these  elements  into 
conscious  relation  with  the  new  fact  or  idea,  trouble  may  be- 
gin—  a  quarrel  may  arise  between  these  elements  and  the 
new-comer  so  cordially  welcomed  at  first.  Again,  there 
may  be  implicit  disharmony  between  the  new  presentation 
and  the  elements  that  were  in  consciousness  when  it  was 
accepted,  and  this  disharmony  may  subsequently  become 
apparent.  The  very  host  that  welcomed  the  new  inmate 
may  discover  on  further  acquaintance  that  there  were  deep- 
seated  incompatibilities  which  did  not  appear  at  the  time. 
Subsequent  reflection  may  make  these  apparent,  and  thus  an 
unexpected  conflict  may  result.  This,  of  course,  is  more 
likely  to  occur  in  active  and  progressive  than  in  static  mental 
conditions.  But  whatever  the  subsequent  fate  of  the  new 
fact  or  idea  may  be,  it  is  believed,  accepted  as  true  or  real, 
if  it  seems  to  be  in  harmony  with  the  conscious  mental  sys- 
tem at  the  time  of  perception;  and  this  acceptance  is  em- 
phatic, i.e.,  the  belief  is  positive,  in  proportion  as  it  is  felt 
to  confirm  that  system.  If  in  the  course  of  later  reflection 
and  mental  reorganization  that  first  "  feeling  "  is  justified, 


BELIEF  141 

the  positiveness  of  the  belief  will  be  increased.     It  will  be- 
come deeply  rooted  in  the  mental  world. 

4.  The  mind  may  receive  the  presentation  with  more  or 
less  suspicion,  as  tentatively  true  or  real.  This  species  of 
reaction  is  determined  by  the  fact  that,  while  the  new  pres- 
entation seems  to  be  in  agreement  with  the  mental  system, 
there  accompanies  its  acceptance  a  vague  sense  of  un- 
certainty as  to  whether  the  agreement  is  actual  or  com- 
plete. This  vague  uncertainty  may  be  due  to  the  general 
attitude  of  caution  induced  by  manifold  experience;  or  to 
the  fact  that  the  disagreeing  factors  are  in  the  background, 
or  perhaps  below  the  threshold,  of  consciousness,  and  are  in- 
directly projecting  their  influence  into  the  conscious  field. 
Every  one  has  had  experiences  coloured  in  this  way.  For 
instance,  a  politician  assures  us  of  his  devotion  to  the  public 
welfare;  but,  although  there  is  nothing  known  to  us  in  his 
character  or  career  to  excite  distrust  and  we  therefore 
accept  his  assurances,  we  have  been  so  often  disappointed  in 
men  of  this  class  that  an  almost  inevitable  shade  of  distrust 
goes  with  our  acceptance.  Or  sometimes  when  a  statement 
is  made  to  us  on  good  authority  our  minds  are  shadowed 
by  a  dim  doubt  of  its  correctness,  the  reasons  for  which  we 
cannot  explicitly  state.  We  believe  the  statement  —  it 
seems  to  be  in  agreement  with  our  experience  —  and  wonder 
that  our  belief  of  it  is  not  more  hearty.  There  is  a  semi- 
conscious impulse  to  question,  but  not  of  sufficient  strength 
to  cause  a  suspension  of  judgment.  There  is  merely  a 
nascent  sense  of  the  possibility  of  discord  with  parts  of  our 
experience  which  are  not  now  in  consciousness.  Closely 
akin  to  this  attitude,  most  probably  identical  with  it  in  prin- 
ciple, is  our  acceptance  of  an  hypothesis  which  seems  to  em- 
body an  illuminating  principle,  but  which  carries  with  it  the 
possibility  of  failure  in  some  as  yet  untried  application.  We 
believe  it;  but  for  a  time,  possibly  forever,  there  accom- 
panies it  a  shadow  of  uncertainty  which  is  not  strong  enough 
to  neutralize  its  convincing  power,  but  which  nevertheless 
enters  into  and  modifies  our  mental  attitude.  With  broad- 


142  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

ening  experience  that  uncertainty  may  finally  disappear  and 
thus  the  mental  attitude  gradually  change  from  a  tentative 
to  an  unqualified  belief. 

5.  The  mind  may  keep  the  presentation  standing  at  the 
door,  awaiting  investigation.  This  type  of  reaction  is  of 
great  importance.  It  is  the  attitude  of  suspended  judgment 
The  presentation  which  is  a  candidate  for  incorporation  in 
our  system  of  beliefs  is  held  up  for  examination.  This  may 
be  due,  first,  to  its  strangeness.  The  sense  of  possible  con- 
flict with  our  organized  experience  may  be  so  pronounced 
that  we  cannot  admit  the  new  presentation  as  true  until  that 
question  is  at  least  tentatively  settled.  It  is  a  situation 
similar  to  that  described  in  the  last  paragraph ;  but  with  this 
important  difference  —  the  sense  of  uncertainty  is  much 
greater,  and  the  quantitative  difference  in  the  sense  of  un- 
certainty is  so  great  as  to  result  in  a  mental  reaction  qual- 
itatively different.  This  may  occur  even  in  connection  with 
the  action  of  one  of  our  senses.  If  the  fact  to  which  one 
sense  testifies  is  an  exceedingly  strange  one,  we  do  not 
always  accept  it  at  once.  We  suspend  judgment  until  we 
have  assured  ourselves  that  the  sense  is  acting  under  normal 
conditions,  and  we  commonly  do  this  by  trying  the  testimony 
of  one  sense  against  that  of  another.  The  eye,  for  instance, 
may  testify  to  a  ghostly  apparition,  and  we  test  its  truth 
by  touch  or  some  other  sense.  If  the  senses  agree  we  accept 
their  testimony  as  true.  In  principle  the  same  course  is 
often  pursued  when  an  hypothesis  is  proposed  for  the  ex- 
planation of  a  problem  and  carries  with  it  a  "  feeling  "  of 
important  disagreement  with  our  system  of  ideas,  although 
the  exact  nature  of  the  disagreement  may  not  be  obvious. 
We  hold  the  proposition  in  suspense  and  investigate  to  see 
whether  the  suspected  disagreement  is  actual  and  just  how 
far  it  extends.  If  we  discover  that  the  discord  is  not  mani- 
fest, or  is  only  slight,  the  suspense  of  judgment  which  ar- 
rested the  acceptance  of  the  hypothesis  gives  way  to  the 
qualified  acceptance  discussed  above. 

The  suspended  judgment  may  be  due,  second,  to  the  fact 


BELIEF  143 

that  two  presentations  which  are  clearly  inconsistent  with 
each  other  are  offered  to  the  mind  at  the  same  time;  as, 
for  instance,  two  mutually  exclusive  hypotheses  which  are 
proposed  as  alternative  explanations  of  the  same  phenome- 
non. Each  may  have  some  points  of  agreement  with  the 
mental  system,  and  neither  may  be  in  obvious  discord  with 
it.  But  while  either  hypothesis  might,  so  far  as  its  own  evi- 
dence is  concerned,  be  tentatively  accepted,  manifest  conflict 
with  one  another  will  keep  either  from  being  adopted  until 
investigation  has  determined  which  of  them  stands  in  the 
more  obvious  and  general  agreement  with  our  organized 
experience. 

Or,  third,  this  attitude  may  be  due  to  the  fact  that  there 
is  manifest  disagreement  between  that  which  offers  itself 
and  the  mental  system  in  which  it  seeks  to  be  incorporated. 
The  opposition  may  be  more  or  less  radical;  but  in  such  a 
case  the  acceptance  will  clearly  require  a  more  or  less 
thorough  reorganization  of  the  mental  life.  The  history  of 
the  conflict  between  science  and  theology  is  full  of  examples 
of  this  situation ;  indeed,  it  is  a  frequently  recurring  phase 
of  the  progress  of  thought,  and  of  the  development  of  each 
individual  mind  which  rises  above  the  level  of  simple  tra- 
ditionalism. But  when  this  conflict  takes  place  between  a 
new  idea  and  old  system  of  ideas  and  results  in  the  specific 
mental  attitude  of  doubt,  it  is  evident  that  the  disagreement 
is  not  absolute ;  the  new  idea  must  find  some  point  of  attach- 
ment to  the  mental  organization,  otherwise  it  would  be  in- 
stantly rejected,  and  doubt,  the  attitude  of  suspended  judg- 
ment, would  not  occur. 

6.  The  mind  may  positively  and  unequivocally  reject 
the  new  presentation  —  shut  the  door,  so  to  speak,  in  its 
face.  This  may  be  called  the  attitude  of  the  closed  mind. 
The  new  idea  is  not  given  any  showing  at  all.  There  is  no 
suspension  of  judgment,  no  hanging  fire,  no  investigation. 
Judgment  is  pronounced  at  once.  The  fact  that  its  disagree- 
ment with  the  mental  system  is  profound,  and  that  it  would, 
if  judged  as  real,  necessitate  a  general  reconstruction  of  the 


144  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

mental  world  makes  the  new  idea  too  disturbing  to  minds 
that  have  reached  a  certain  stage  of  crystallization.  If  the 
disagreement  is  entire,  it  is  judged  as  absurd  and  utterly 
unworthy  of  consideration.  The  whole  mind  reacts  against 
it  and  judges  it  as  untrue.  There  is  no  doubt  in  the  atti- 
tude of  the  closed  mind.  Its  characteristic  note  is  the 
assertion  of  unconditional  adherence  to  the  existing  system 
of  beliefs  and  the  simultaneous  rejection  of  the  presentation 
which  conflicts  with  it.  Of  course,  no  mind  becomes  so 
completely  crystallized  as  to  resist  unconditionally  new  ideas 
of  every  description;  but  it  not  unfrequently  happens  that 
one's  system  of  ideas  pertaining  to  some  particular  field  of 
thought  becomes  so  fixed  as  to  exclude,  automatically,  so  to 
speak,  every  suggestion  which  would  involve  any  change  of 
importance.  This  is  often  noticeable  in  the  domain  of  the- 
ology or  of  politics.  It  is  characteristic  of  the  mental  or- 
ganization of  those  who  have  reached  advanced  age  in  a 
provincial  environment. 

II.  Several  important  consequences  may  be  deduced 
from  the  foregoing  analysis  of  the  mental  functions,  belief 
and  doubt. 

I.  The  specific  character,  the  quale,  of  belief  is  the  ac- 
ceptance of  a  presentation  as  true.  But  what  exactly  is 
meant  by  "  true  "  ?  Without  being  led  into  a  detailed  dis- 
cussion of  this  difficult  question,  an  answer  sufficient  for  our 
purpose  is  that  the  "  truth"  of  a  presentation  means  that  it 
may  be  taken  as  a  safe  basis  of  action.  This  is  the  true 
mark  and  measure  of  belief.  All  thinking  has  reference 
ultimately  to  action.  One's  mental  system  is  his  equip- 
ment for  the  direction  and  control  of  action,  using  the  word 
in  the  general  sense  of  conduct;  and  the  reception  of  any 
new  elements  among  his  beliefs  signifies  the  preparedness 
and  purpose  to  act  in  accordance  therewith  when  the  occa- 
sion for  it  arises.  The  function  of  mind  is  to  receive  im- 
pressions, or  presentations,  from  the  environment,  treasure 
them,  correlate  them  and  translate  them  into  suitable  acts  of 
adjustment.  That  which  to  a  mind  is  suitable  to  be  trans- 


BELIEF  145 

lated  into  action  is  to  that  mind  the  "true";  and  is  be- 
lieved. That  which  the  mind  suspects  can  not  be  acted  upon 
safely  is  doubted.  The  body  of  beliefs  which  one  holds  is 
his  correlation  with  the  environment.  By  translating  them 
into  conduct  as  occasions  arise  he  effects  his  adjustments 
to  environment  from  moment  to  moment.  There  would 
seem,  then,  to  be  no  line  of  absolute  demarcation  between 
knowledge  and  belief.  They  overlap  and  shade  into  one 
another.  Our  knowledge  consists  of  the  body  of  beliefs 
that  have  been  thoroughly  tested  and  found  by  actual  results 
to  be  sure  and  safe  guides  to  action.  Our  belief,  which  is 
not  also  knowledge,  consists  of  the  body  of  judgments  which 
have  been  incorporated  in  our  mental  systems  but  which 
have  not  as  yet  been  sufficiently  tested  to  stand  within  that 
narrow  circle.  Knowledge  is  thoroughly  tested  belief ;  and 
within  this  limit  knowledge  and  belief  are  designations  of 
the  same  mental  content  viewed  from  different  angles. 

We  have  spoken  of  doubt  as  a  state  or  attitude  resulting 
from  the  arrest  of  the  process  of  believing,  and  this  exactly 
indicates  its  true  character.  It  has  been  said  truly  that  it  is 
doubt  which  demands  explanation,  not  belief.1  It  is  nat- 
ural, normal  to  believe.  It  is  the  primary  function  of  the 
mind  to  receive  impressions  from  the  environment  and 
translate  them  into  adjustments.  In  other  words,  it  is  its 
function  to  believe  and  govern  action  accordingly.  Doubt 
arises  in  the  arrest  of  this  primary  function  through  a  con- 
flict between  the  practical  tendencies  of  these  impressions. 
Out  of  this  state  of  things  issues  the  secondary  function 
of  mind,  thinking,  i.e.,  comparison,  deliberation,  the  effort  to 
bring  these  conflicting  tendencies  into  harmony,  to  correlate 
them  in  a  higher  unity ;  and  as  the  environment  to  which  ad- 
justment must  be  made  by  the  highly  developed  person  be- 
comes exceedingly  complex  and  changeful,  this  function 
comes  to  be  so  important  that  we  ordinarily  think  of  it  as 
primary  rather  than  secondary. 

2.  Doubt,  then,  in  its  very  nature  is  a  temporary  func- 

1  Pillsbury's  "  Psychology  of  Reasoning,"  p.  25. 


146  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

tion.  Chronic  doubt  is  hurtful  and  ultimately  ruinous.  If 
it  becomes  permanent,  it  means  the  partial  or  complete  sus- 
pension of  the  life-process  in  the  sphere  in  which  it  obtains. 
Life  is  a  process  of  adjustment,  and  doubt  is  an  arrest  of 
this  process,  and  can  be  justified  only  as  a  means  of  avoid- 
ing a  maladjustment,  or  as  a  step  toward  a  more  adequate 
adjustment,  a  wider  and  more  complete  correlation  with  en- 
vironment. It  is  somewhat  like  a  surgical  operation,  which 
is  intended  to  relieve  a  maladjustment  of  some  sort;  but  a 
surgery  which  would  keep  a  man's  body  perpetually  on  the 
operating  table  under  the  dissecting  knife  would  be  crim- 
inal. And  doubt  which  keeps  the  mind  in  a  perpetual  sus- 
pense will  certainly  result  in  maiming  the  life  in  some  of  its 
functions,  and  if  it  becomes  universal  will  destroy  the  per- 
sonality. It  would  mean  the  abdication  of  both  the  primary 
and  secondary  functions  of  mind.  Doubt  is  justifiable* 
when,  and  only  when,  it  is  a  temporary  stage  in  the  organiza- 
tion of  a  more  adequate  belief.  As  we  climb  up  the  moun- 
tain side  to  the  higher  altitudes  whence  we  may  have  a 
wider  outlook  upon  the  universe  of  reality,  it  is  often 
necessary  that  we  pass  through  belts  of  cloud;  and  that 
which  justifies  and  rewards  us  for  climbing  through  the 
choking  mists  is  the  grander  prospect  which  opens  out  above 
them. 

3.  The  closed  mind,  on  the  other  hand,  is  equally  fatal. 
It  avoids  the  dangers  of  chronic  doubt,  but  has  dangers 
of  its  own  that  are  just  as  great.  It  leads  one  by  a  different 
route  to  a  different  destination,  but  one  that  is  as  far  re- 
moved from  the  true  ends  of  life.  The  closed  mind  has  a 
belief  and  is  active,  therefore ;  whereas  the  mind  suspended 
in  chronic  doubt  is  paralysed.  But  the  closed  mind  directs 
its  activities  more  and  more  against  reality.  The  beliefs  of 
such  a  mind  represent  a  certain  correlation  with  a  certain 
order  of  environing  conditions.  But  this  attitude  could  be 
justified  only  on  two  grounds — (i)  that  those  beliefs  rep- 
resent a  perfect  correlation  with  those  conditions,  (2)  that 
those  conditions  undergo  no  change.  We  know  as  a  mat- 


BELIEF  147 

ter  of  fact  that  neither  of  these  assumptions  is  ever  realized 
in  the  experience  of  finite  minds.  The  correlation  is  never 
perfect  and  the  conditions  are  always  changing.  The  closed 
mind,  therefore,  falls  into  an  increasingly  serious  maladjust- 
ment to  the  actual  conditions  of  life,  which  is  only  another 
way  of  saying  into  increasingly  hurtful  error  and  opposi- 
tion to  the  truth ;  and  this  means  that  its  activities  are  ever 
increasingly  destructive  to  itself  and  others.  To  assume 
this  attitude  is  to  abdicate  both  the  primary  and  the  second- 
ary functions  of  the  mind;  for  we  must  remember  that  its 
primary  function  is  to  receive  impressions  from  the  environ- 
ment and  direct  conduct  according  to  them,  and  if  all  pres- 
entations not  in  agreement  with  the  existing  mental  system 
are  to  be  on  that  ground  rejected,  this  function  is  no  longer 
performed  so  far  as  its  most  important  value  for  life  is  con- 
cerned. It  also  means  the  discontinuance  of  the  function 
of  thinking,  for  the  characteristic  mark  of  thought  is  the 
comparison  of  ideas  with  one  another,  and  its  most  impor- 
tant value  for  life  is  the  resolution  of  conflicts  between 
them,  the  elimination  of  the  totally  false  and  the  correlation 
of  those  which  are  in  any  measure  true  into  a  higher  unity, 
a  larger  truth.  For  the  close  mind  the  thinking  does  not 
pass  beyond  the  primary  stage  of  perceiving  the  disagree- 
ment with  the  present  mental  system,  whereupon  the  new 
idea  is  instantly  judged  as  false.  The  most  dangerous  man 
in  politics  —  excepting  him  whose  vote  is  for  sale  —  is  the 
one  who  will  not  consider  new  ideas,  and  the  same  attitude 
of  mind  in  religion  is  a  constant  obstruction  to  the  progress 
of  the  truth. 

The  only  mental  attitude,  therefore,  which  is  consistent 
with  the  maintenance  and  development  of  life  is  that  of  the 
open  mind,  which  is  exposed,  indeed,  to  the  dangers  of 
doubt  but  which  is  also  accessible  to  larger  truth,  whose 
shadow  doubt  so  often  is.  In  this  attitude  we  may  move 
forever  upward  toward  the  infinitely  distant  goal  of  abso- 
lute truth,  the  perfect  mental  correlation  with  the  universe 
of  reality.  The  open  mind  is  as  far  removed  from  the 


148  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

paralysis  of  chronic  doubt  as  it  is  from  the  dead  crystalliza- 
tion of  the  mind  which  never  doubts  because  it  refuses  to 
think.  The  open  mind  is  not  at  all  inconsistent  with  positive 
conviction  and  constructive  activity;  rather  the  contrary. 
It  has  convictions  that  have  been  so  thoroughly  tested  in  the 
crucible  of  thought  that  opposing  ideas  can  be  met  without 
awakening  disturbing  fears;  and  its  activity  is  constructive 
because  the  true  definition  of  construction  is  the  more  per- 
fect correlation  of  life  with  environment. 

III.  If  we  compare  the  conditions  under  which  belief 
and  doubt  occur  and  the  conditions  under  which  feeling 
arises,  the  intimate  connection  between  them  becomes  ap- 
parent. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  evident  that  the  act  of  belief,  con- 
sidered in  and  by  itself  alone,  is  pleasantly  toned,  because 
it  is  an  experience  which  falls  in  with  and  quickens  the 
mental  process  actually  going  on.  This,  however,  is  often 
obscured  by  the  fact  that  the  content  of  the  belief,  the  thing 
believed,  imposes  a  decided  check  upon  the  deeper  instinc- 
tive tendencies  and  processes  of  life.  The  pleasure  which 
the  mere  act  of  believing  causes  is  thus  submerged  and  lost 
in  the  stronger  tide  of  unpleasantness  caused  by  the  disagree- 
able idea  or  fact  believed.  Likewise  the  suspense  of  doubt, 
in  and  by  itself,  is  always  unpleasant;  except,  perhaps,  in 
the  case  of  the  chronic  doubter,  who  has  formed  the  habit  of 
doubt,  which  each  suspension  of  judgment  coincides  with 
and  strengthens.  And  even  then,  as  in  the  case  of  every  bad 
habit,  the  experience  is  not  one  of  pure  and  unmixed  pleas- 
ure but  is  shot  through  with  a  vague  unpleasantness,  due  to 
the  fact  that  the  habit  is  in  opposition  to  fundamental  vital 
processes. 

In  the  second  place,  it  is  apparent  not  only  that  belief  and 
doubt  are  accompanied  by  feeling-tones  but  that  these  atti- 
tudes are  in  some  measure  determined  by  feelings.  Differ- 
ences of  opinion  may  exist  as  to  the  emphasis  which  should 
be  placed  upon  feeling  as  a  factor  in  determining  these  re- 
actions, and  it  may  be  claimed  that  it  does  not  play  an 


BELIEF  149 

equally  important  role  in  their  determination  in  all  minds, 
because  all  minds  are  not  equal  in  their  capacity  for  feeling. 
Minds  vary  in  sensibility ;  vary  not  only  as  to  the  keenness 
of  the  feeling  awakened  by  the  same  stimulus  but  as  to  the 
strength  of  their  feeling  responses  in  general.  And,  other 
things  being  equal,  the  mind  of  keen  and  delicate  sensibility 
may  possibly  be  more  influenced  by  feeling  in  the  accept- 
ance of  presentations  than  the  mind  of  dull  sensibility. 
However  that  may  be,  it  is  certain  that  in  minds  of  unusual 
sensibility  the  influence  of  the  feelings  in  this  respect  is  more 
apparent ;  though,  perhaps,  if  we  could  lay  bare  the  inner  life 
of  all  minds  we  should  discover  that  they  differ  from  one 
another  in  this  matter,  not  as  to  the  extent  to  which  feeling 
influences  the  acceptance  of  new  ideas  or  facts,  but  as  to  the 
intensity  or  positiveness  of  the  beliefs  so  determined.  The 
mind  of  extreme  sensibility  holds  its  beliefs  more  pas- 
sionately, more  dogmatically,  than  the  mind  of  dull  sensi- 
bility. Its  beliefs  have  for  a  mind  of  great  sensibility  a 
value,  a  preciousness,  which  they  do  not  have  for  a  mind  of 
the  opposite  type ;  though  probably  feeling  is  equally  potent 
in  each  in  determining  the  content  of  belief. 

But  how  does  feeling  operate  in  the  determination  of 
belief?  Manifestly  it  is  not  the  sole  factor.  It  does  not 
operate  apart  from  the  organized  experience  as  represented 
in  the  system  of  ideas.  Belief  is  the  acceptance  of  a  pres- 
entation and  its  instalment  in  this  system  of  ideas  based 
upon  the  perception  of  agreement  between  the  two.  Feel- 
ing, then,  must  become  influential  in  determining  belief  by 
exercising  some  measure  of  control  over  the  action  of  con- 
sciousness as  organized  in  this  system.  It  operates  as  a 
power  behind  the  throne. 

First,  it  influences  the  direction  of  the  attention.  Feel- 
ing is  the  peculiar  emphasis  of  meaning  for  the  self  with 
which  each  presentation  is  clothed  as  consciousness  is  di- 
rected upon  it.  It  is  obvious  that  the  specific  feeling  which 
accompanies  the  direction  of  the  attention  does  not  de- 
termine this  act;  but  the  mood,  or  the  course  of  feeling,  or 


I5O  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

the  general  emotional  situation,  which  is  the  resultant  of  the 
preceding  mental  activity,  will  unquestionably  influence  the 
direction  of  the  attention.  Among  the  presentations  riling 
in  a  continuous  series  across  the  threshold  of  the  mind,  or 
appealing  for  its  recognition  all  at  once,  some  are  singled 
out  and  given  consideration ;  others  are  neglected,  or  pass  on 
with  scant  attention.  Tne  mind  is  interested  in  some  of 
them  and  not  in  others,  and  towards  the  latter  it  assumes 
no  definite  conscious  attitude.  Towards  the  former  it  as- 
sumes a  definite  attitude,  which  as  it  develops  must  resolve 
itself  into  belief  —  acceptance  as  real  or  true ;  or  doubt  — 
hesitation  to  accept  as  true  or  real;  or  rejection — judgment 
as  untrue  or  unreal.  Feeling,  therefore,  has  much  to  do  in 
the  direction  of  this  selective  process  which  singles  out  the 
matter  upon  which  consciousness  is  concentrated;  and  this 
surely  is  a  most  important  function. 

Second,  feeling  not  only  has  much  to  do  in  controlling  the 
direction  of  the  attention,  but  is  also  very  influential  in  de- 
termining the  attitude  which  the  mind  takes  toward  the  new 
object.  Not  only  the  general  mood  or  state  of  feeling,  but 
the  specific  feeling  which  accompanies  the  concentration  of 
consciousness  upon  the  object  determines  to  a  large  extent 
how  the  mind  will  treat  it.  If  the  feeling  excited  by  the  ob- 
ject is  distinctly  unpleasant,  it  inevitably  tends  to  induce  hes- 
itation, and  this  is  practically  another  name  for  doubt.  This 
is  especially  true  if  the  feeling  is  one  that  arises  out  of  the 
deep  instinctive  stratum  of  our  mental  life.  The  fact  or 
idea  against  which  a  strong  feeling  raises  this  initial  pro- 
test is  not  likely  to  be  accepted  until  it  has  shown  clear  cre- 
dentials, even  though  there  may  be  no  apparent  intellectual 
inconsistency,  no  disagreement  with  the  system  of  ideas.  It 
will  be  required  to  give  positive  and  convincing  evidence  of 
its  right  to  stand  within  the  circle  of  beliefs.  The  merely 
negative  evidence  of  the  absence  of  perceived  disagreement 
will  not  suffice.  If  it  runs  counter  to  our  desires,  our  in- 
clinations, our  hopes,  it  will  be  held  up  for  further  investiga- 
tion, if  it  is  not  instantly  rejected. 


BELIEF  151 

Moreover,  while  the  investigation  is  going  on  its  points 
of  agreement  with  our  mental  system  are  minimized  and  its 
points  of  disagreement  magnified;  points  of  disagreement 
are  diligently  sought  for  and  points  of  agreement  are  not. 
Throughout  the  whole  process,  therefore,  feeling  is  active 
and  powerfully  influences  the  action  of  the  intellect.  If  the 
feeling  aroused  by  the  presentation  is  emphatically  unpleas- 
ant, it  is  rarely  possible  to  keep  the  balances  of  the  judgment 
even.  Such  an  unpleasant  feeling  excites  suspicion  against 
the  object,  to  begin  with;  acts  as  sheriff  to  arrest  the  sus- 
pect ;  then  assumes  the  role  of  the  detective  to  search  out  the 
damaging  evidence;  plays  attorney  for  the  prosecution; 
undertakes  to  weigh  the  evidence  as  juror,  and  even  seeks 
to  interpret  the  law  as  judge.  It  is  omnipresent,  urgent, 
subtilely  influencing  the  proceedings  at  every  stage.  Pos- 
sibly it  becomes  too  busy  and  domineering  and  in  the  highly 
organized  person  may  cause  a  reaction  by  awakening  some 
counter-feeling,  such  as  mental  self-respect,  or  the  love  of 
truth  for  truth's  sake,  or  the  sense  of  justice;  and  in  this 
way  only  can  the  original  feeling  of  displeasure  evoked  by 
the  disagreeable  idea  or  fact  be  checked  and  held  within 
proper  limits.  But  in  persons  whose  mental  development  is 
not  high,  the  feeling,  pleasant  or  unpleasant,  called  forth 
by  a  presentation  generally  secures  a  verdict  for  or  against 
it,  unless  the  evidence  the  other  way  is  overwhelming.  The 
speaker  who  wishes  to  secure  assent  to  a  proposition  will 
always  find  himself  rowing  against  a  powerful  current,  if  it 
excites  a  decidedly  disagreeable  feeling.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  feeling  aroused  is  a  distinctly  pleasant  one,  he  finds 
himself  sailing  both  with  wind  and  current  in  his  favour. 
Such  a  decidedly  agreeable  feeling  directs  attention  to  its 
points  of  agreement  with  the  system  of  ideas  and  diverts 
attention  from  its  disagreements ;  underscores  the  former 
and  leaves  the  latter  unemphasized,  even  when  they  are  too 
obvious  to  be  wholly  overlooked ;  searches  for  agreements, 
which  it  is  likely  to  find  because  it  seeks  for  them;  and, 
unless  by  its  excesses  it  starts  into  activity  some  counter- 


152  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

feeling,  which  enters  the  game,  or  unless  the  disagreements 
with  one's  organized  experience  are  so  numerous,  distinct 
and  obtrusive  as  to  render  reconciliation  impossible,  it  will 
probably  secure  the  mind's  assent  to  the  new  presentation. 

Now,  when  we  reflect  that  the  majority  of  the  contents  of 
one's  intellectual  system  have  secured  their  introduction  into 
it  through  these  processes,  it  is  apparent  that,  while  feeling 
does  not  exercise  an  absolute  control  —  since  many  unpleas- 
ant things  have  to  be  accepted  —  it  has  been  a  most  potent 
factor  in  the  organization  of  one's  whole  system  of  beliefs ; 
and,  through  its  extensive  control  over  the  activity  of  the 
system  which  it  has  been  so  potent  in  forming,  is  constantly 
influencing  the  incorporation  of  new  materials  in  it. 

IV.  If  we  look  back  over  the  foregoing  analysis  of 
mental  attitudes,  we  perceive  that  there  are  three  general 
classes  of  beliefs  —  those  which  have  their  basis  in  the  nat- 
ural credulity  of  the  mind,  those  which  rest  principally  upon 
positive  agreement  with  the  intellectual  system,  and  those 
which  derive  their  certification  chiefly  from  powerful  feel- 
ings that  spring  from  one's  instinctive  organization.  The 
first  can  be  referred  to  the  suggestibility  of  the  mind;  the 
second  to  its  rationality ;  and  the  third,  if  I  may  coin  a  word, 
to  its  affectability,  i.e.,  to  its  capacity  for  suffering  and  en- 
joyment. We  are  beings  who  have  conscious  needs  and 
desires,  who  must  live  or  die  and  who  crave  life.  Out  of 
this  deep  instinctive  substratum  of  our  nature  spring  long- 
ings for  certain  kinds  of  satisfactions,  and  these  longings 
generate  belief  in  the  reality  of  those  objects  which  are 
necessary  to  their  satisfaction. 

We  may  distinguish,  then,  primitive  credulity,  rational 
conviction  and  vital  assurance.  Credulity  believes  things 
because  it  is  told  that  they  are  true.  It  is  natural  and  beauti- 
ful in  the  child,  because  the  child  has  had  but  little  experi- 
ence and  has,  therefore,  no  well-established  positive  standard 
of  critical  judgment.  In  credulity  its  mental  life  normally 
begins.  But  it  does  not  by  any  means  excite  our  admiration 
when  we  observe  it  in  the  grown  person,  because  the  grown 


BELIEF  153 

person  has  had  experience  and  opportunity  to  organize  his 
intellectual  life,  and  thus  should  be  equipped  to  weigh  and 
consider  all  presentations  that  seek  admittance  to  his  mind 
as  truth.  We  consider  it,  therefore,  abnormal  and  repre- 
hensible for  him,  in  matters  of  important  concern,  to  accept 
what  he  is  told  without  the  exercise  of  his  own  reason.  In 
no  matter  of  great  practical  importance  should  his  belief 
rest  blindly  upon  authority,  the  subjective  correlate  of 
which  is  suggestibility.  It  should  have  its  roots  in  himself. 
It  should  be  tested  in  the  crucible  of  his  own  intellect.  If  he 
believes  the  statements  of  others  it  should  not  be  the  acqui- 
escence of  mere  credulity,  but  the  assent  of  a  rationally 
acting  mind.  Vital  assurance  also  stands  in  antithesis  to 
credulous  belief,  but  not  to  rational  conviction.  It  is  dis- 
tinct from  the  latter  in  principle  but  is  not  inconsistent 
with  it.  By  its  very  nature  its  content  often  is  not  subject 
to  final  ratification  by  the  logical  faculty.  That  content, 
however,  should  not  be  inconsistent  with  the  rational  con- 
clusions of  the  mind ;  and  if  such  an  inconsistency  appears, 
the  strength  of  the  vital  assurance  is  weakened  in  proportion 
to  the  depth  of  the  antagonism.  There  should  be  harmony 
between  the  two  in  order  to  secure  inward  peace  and  unity 
and  a  high  degree  of  practical  efficiency.  And  on  the  whole 
there  is  a  tendency  for  the  two  types  of  belief  to  coincide. 

Sometimes,  however,  it  happens  that  a  man  builds  up  a 
belief  on  what  seems  to  him  at  the  time  a  rational  basis; 
but  subsequently,  when  a  powerful  stimulation  of  the  in- 
stinctive nature  occurs,  he  finds  that  this  belief  denies  sat- 
isfaction to  some  of  his  most  vital  longings.  Sometimes, 
again,  it  happens  that  beliefs  which  do  satisfy  the  instinctive 
longings  are  wrought  into  an  intellectual  system  which  new 
knowledge  seems  to  render  untenable.  Then  there  is  dis- 
tress of  mind.  In  the  long  run  a  man  will  usually  build  a 
structure  of  belief  that  is  consistent  with  the  central  cravings 
of  his  nature;  but  such  a  fortunate  adjustment  does  not 
always  take  place,  and  he  is  then  left  with  a  permanent  and 
more  or  less  painful  discord  in  his  mental  life.  Such  situa- 


154  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

tions  have  been  frequent  in  the  history  of  religion,  and 
especially  so  in  recent  times.  Sometimes  again,  a  man  will 
entertain  a  belief  of  the  credulous  or  the  rational  type, 
which  has  comparatively  little  influence  upon  his  practical 
life  until  some  powerful  stimulation  of  his  instinctive  nature 
vivifies  it  and  converts  it.  into  a  vital  assurance  which  pro- 
foundly modifies  his  conduct.  Many  a  man  accepts  the  ex- 
istence of  God  through  social  suggestion,  or  as  a  result  of 
reasoning;  but  the  belief  remains  to  a  large  extent  formal 
and  inoperative  so  far  as  the  more  important  aspects  of  con- 
duct are  concerned,  until  in  some  great  crisis  his  vital  long- 
ing for  divine  support  and  fellowship  is  awakened  and  the 
realization  of  God  becomes  the  source  of  his  deepest  satis- 
faction and  the  controlling  influence  in  his  conduct. 

The  distinction  between  these  types  of  belief  must  not  be 
understood  to  imply  that  feeling  is  not  operative  in  the 
formation  of  all  of  them.  The  distinction  lies,  first,  in  the 
different  degrees  and  modes  of  influence  exerted  by  the  in- 
tellect and  the  feelings  in  their  formation;  and,  second,  in 
the  operation  of  a  special  class  of  feelings  in  the  production 
of  vital  assurances.  Feeling  has  comparatively  little  to  do 
with  what  is  accepted  by  the  credulous  mind  under  the  in- 
fluence of  suggestion;  although  it  is  not  an  insignificant 
factor.  In  rational  conviction  the  intellect  plays  a  far  more 
positive  role  than  in  credulity  and  a  far  less  dominant 
role  than  in  vital  assurance;  though  feeling  has  a  more 
definite  and  important  part  in  it  than  in  credulity.  In  vital 
assurance,  as  already  indicated,  a  special  class  of  feelings 
which  spring  from  the  deepest  depths  of  our  nature  is  the 
controlling  factor.  The  sponsor,  the  guarantor,  of  vital 
assurance  is  neither  external  authority  nor  the  intellectual 
system,  but  the  fundamental  needs  of  human  nature  voicing 
themselves  in  powerful  emotions  when  deep  instincts  are 
excited. 

One's  real  religious  belief,  stripped  of  all  the  remnants  or 
accretions  of  credulity,  belongs  to  the  class  of  vital  assur- 
ances. It  is  the  affirmation  of  the  reality  of  the  super- 


BELIEF  155 

sensible  objects  and  relations  which  are  felt  to  be  necessary 
for  the  satisfaction  of  the  fundamental  needs  of  the  per- 
sonality. It  declares  that  back  of  all  sensory  experiences  — 
the  material  universe  —  are  beings,  activities,  tendencies, 
ends,  which  constitute  the  ultimate  meaning  of  all  life.  In 
this  assurance  the  cognitive  activity  is  motived  by  deep  in- 
stinctive longings.  These  postulates  of  the  heart  are  at 
most  only  negatively  controlled  by  the  intellectual  system; 
and  often  the  stress  of  these  vital  needs  impels  the  intellect 
to  reconstruct  the  system  of  ideas  which  places  its  veto  upon 
them.  It  has  been  truly  said :  "  The  soul  likes  to  project 
that  which  is  most  deeply  rooted  in  its  own  being  furthest 
beyond  itself.  The  objective  lies  for  it,  so  to  speak,  in  the 
middle  distance;  but  that  which  is  inmost,  which  originates 
in  the  most  subjective  stratum  of  the  soul,  it  extends  from 
itself  into  an  Absolute,  Overobjective."  i  That  is,  our  own 
inmost  heart  postulates  for  us  a  universe  of  reality  that  lies 
beyond  the  objective  world  of  the  senses.  The  formulation 
of  this  reality  is  the  work  of  the  intellect,  but  in  that  work 
it  is  controlled  by  affection  and  desire.  The  soul,  using  the 
imagination  as  a  brush,  paints  the  far  background  of  exist- 
ence in  the  colours  of  its  own  intimate  feelings.  We  require 
a  spiritual  world  which  will  answer  and  satisfy  our  central 
cravings.  Thus  the  Psalmist  cried,  "  My  soul  thirsteth  for 
God." 

Since,  however,  we  are  under  the  necessity  of  conceiving, 
of  clothing  in  intellectual  forms,  the  supersensible  reality 
which  the  heart  postulates,  no  little  trouble  arises  in  the 
realm  of  belief.  The  materials  which  the  intellect  uses  are 
sensuous  images.  Its  most  abstract  constructions  are  built 
up  out  of  these  images.  We  have  to  dress  up  the  super- 
sensible in  the  garments  furnished  by  the  senses.  When  the 
intellect  has  thus  formulated  what  the  heart  has  postulated 
in  the  realm  beyond  the  senses,  these  forms  themselves  can 
not  be  changed  without  a  profound  disturbance  of  the  heart. 
But  as  the  intellectual  system  undergoes  reorganization,  as 

1  Simmel,  "  Die  Probleme  der  Geschichtsphilosophie,"  p.  154. 


156  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING? 

it  inevitably  must  in  active  minds,  those  forms  which  are 
part  and  parcel  of  that  system  must  share  in  the  recon- 
struction. Hence  arises  religious  doubt.  If,  as  sometimes 
happens,  the  intellect  in  its  reconstituted  system  of  ideas 
repudiates  entirely  these  forms  and  undertakes  by  itself  to 
give  an  account  of  all  reality,  the  result  is  a  rationalistic  phi- 
losophy, which  inevitably  leaves  the  deeper  cravings  of  the 
heart  unsatisfied.  Such  a  system  cannot  long  endure.  The 
heart  will  make  its  demands  heard.  On  the  other  hand ;  if 
the  heart  demands  that  the  forms  in  which  its  postulates 
have  been  clothed  by  the  intellect  shall  never  be  altered,  one 
of  two  results  will  inevitably  follow  —  either  intellectual 
growth  will  be  arrested,  or  else  the  old  forms  will  be  filled 
with  a  new  content  of  meaning. 

The  struggle  between  the  head  and  the  heart  is  one  of  the 
most  significant  phenomena  of  our  times.  In  some  persons 
their  reconcilation  is  never  effected.  The  most  notable  ex- 
ample, perhaps,  of  this  refusal  of  the  head  and  the  heart  to 
co-operate  was  Herbert  Spencer.  There  is  a  singular 
pathos  in  the  following  words  near  the  end  of  his  Auto- 
biography. After  discussing  the  vastness  and  the  manifold 
mystery  of  the  universe,  and  declaring  the  impotency  of  the 
intellect  to  comprehend  it,  he  adds :  "  And  along  with  this 
rises  the  paralyzing  thought  —  what  if,  of  all  that  is  thus 
incomprehensible  to  us,  there  exists  no  comprehension  any- 
where? No  wonder  that  men  take  refuge  in  authoritative 
dogma !  .  .  .  Thus  religious  creeds,  which  in  one  way 
or  other,  occupy  the  sphere  which  rational  interpretation 
seeks  to  occupy  and  fails,  and  fails  the  more,  the  more  it 
seeks,  I  have  come  to  regard  with  sympathy  based  on  com- 
munity of  need ;  feeling  that  dissent  from  them  results  from 
inability  to  accept  the  solutions  offered,  joined  with  a  wish 
that  solutions  could  be  found."  He  was  only  a  distinguished 
member  of  that  large,  and  probably  growing,  community  of 
souls  whose  hearts  require  a  religious  interpretation  of  the 
universe,  but  whose  intellectual  systems  are  in  disagreement 
with  any  such  interpretation  as  has  been  offered. 


BELIEF  157 

There  is  a  still  larger  number  who  have  not  repudiated 
all  religious  interpretations,  leaving  their  hearts  in  naked 
want,  but  are  more  or  less  conscious  of  lack  of  harmony 
between  their  systems  of  thought  and  these  interpretations, 
and  yet  strive  to  hold  on  to  both.  They  can  take  refuge 
on  neither  horn  of  the  dilemma.  There  is  lack  of  unity  in 
their  inner  lives.  The  sense  of  uncertainty  hangs  like  a 
discouraging  shadow  over  their  mental  life,  not  wholly  par- 
alyzing but  relaxing  the  nerve  of  religious  belief.  Their 
mental  equilibrium,  so  far  as  religion  is  concerned,  is  very 
unstable.  Religious  belief  has  a  very  insecure  support  in  in- 
tellectual forms.  It  stands  like  a  tree  clinging  with  a  few 
roots  to  the  bank  of  the  stream  whose  waters  have  nearly 
deprived  it  of  sustaining  earth. 

As  preachers  we  must  face  the  immensely  significant  fact 
that  we  are  living  in  an  era  of  doubt.  The  age  is  dynamic, 
changeful.  Modes  of  life  are  constantly  and  rapidly  chang- 
ing; so  are  points  of  view.  New  discoveries  are  made  al- 
most every  year,  some  of  them  seeming  to  call  for  profound 
alterations  in  our  conceptions  of  the  world.  Radical  the- 
ories are  ever  and  anon  propounded,  and  some  of  them 
with  apparent  foundation  in  facts.  No  sooner  are  funda- 
mental questions  supposed  to  be  settled  than  they  are  re- 
opened. Men's  heads  grow  dizzy.  Nor  is  it  possible  to 
foresee  a  time  when  it  will  be  otherwise.  Rather  the  tumult 
of  intellectual  change  seems  on  the  increase.  But  in  the 
meantime  the  instinctive  hunger  of  the  soul  abides.  How 
shall  we  find  a  way  to  keep  secure  the  postulates  of  the  heart 
and  harmonize  them  with  the  conclusions  of  the  intellect? 
We  cannot  afford  to  set  ourselves  against  the  increase  of 
knowledge  or  the  process  of  intellectual  reconstruction. 
That  would  stultify  us  and  would  not  preserve  our  vital  as- 
surance of  the  essential  spirituality  of  the  universe. 

But  before  we  proceed  to  consider  the  relation  of  the 
preacher  to  the  religious  doubt  of  this  age,  we  should  note 
the  fact  that  there  is  a  species  of  doubt  which  originates  in 
personal  inclinations.  Feeling  may  generate  doubt  as  well 


158  PSYCHOLOGY   AND  PREACHING 

as  belief.  Evil  habits  of  life  often  give  rise  to  feelings 
which  repel  a  religious  conception  of  the  world,  and  in- 
fluence the  intellect  to  question  the  existence  of  a  holy  Su- 
preme Being  and  the  moral  order  of  the  world.  The 
debauche,  the  thief,  the  murderer  have  powerful  reasons, 
not  of  the  intellectual  but  of  the  emotional  type,  for  wishing 
that  the  world  were  without  a  moral  meaning  or  a  moral 
ruler;  and  in  this  region  of  the  mental  life,  more  absolutely 
*than  in  any  other,  "  the  wish  is  father  to  the  thought." 

V.  In  conclusion,  some  paragraphs  must  be  given  to  the 
consideration  of  the  practical  question  toward  which  this 
discussion  has  looked  from  the  beginning,  namely,  the 
preacher's  relation  to  religious  doubt.  The  question  as  it 
relates  to  the  preacher's  own  doubts  cannot  now  be  consid- 
ered in  detail;  though  it  may  be  remarked  in  passing  that 
his  attitude  toward  other  doubters  will  be  necessarily  in- 
fluenced by  his  own  experience. 

Every  case  of  doubt  is  clearly  a  special  problem  and  should 
be  dealt  with  as  such.  Personal  idiosyncrasies  figure 
largely  in  each,  and  only  general  rules  can  be  laid  down. 
But  in  any  case  the  preacher's  primary  duty  is  to  understand. 
It  is  the  especial  function  of  preaching  to  present  religious 
truth  in  such  a  way  as  to  secure  its  intelligent  and  whole- 
hearted acceptance,  and  through  genuine  belief  to  influence 
conduct  in  right  directions.  But  if  the  preacher  be  igno- 
rant of  the  nature  of  doubt  and  of  the  conditions  under 
which  it  arises,  his  dealing  with  it  will  be  unintelligent, 
misdirected  and  often  disastrous.  In  general  it  may  also  be 
said  that  sympathetic  treatment  alone  is  appropriate  and 
effective.  Denunciation,  while  it  has  its  limited  function  in 
preaching,  should  never  be  used  to  bring  the  doubter  to  the 
belief  of  the  truth.  The  preacher  who  in  such  cases  in- 
dulges in  denunciation,  with  the  notion  that  he  is  following 
the  example  of  Jesus,  makes  a  capital  mistake  from  which  a 
knowledge  of  the  nature  of  doubt  would  have  saved  him. 
Those  cases  which  called  forth  the  lightning-like  denuncia- 
tions of  Jesus  were  typical  examples,  not  of  doubt,  but  of  the 


BELIEF  159 

closed  mind,  a  mental  state  which  lies  at  the  opposite  ex- 
treme from  doubt. 

There  is,  of  course,  a  form  of  doubt  which  is  called  dis- 
honest, and  dishonesty  should  always  be  severely  dealt  with. 
But  careful  discrimination  should  be  exercised  in  this  mat- 
ter. If  doubt  really  exists,  no  matter  what  influences  have 
induced  it,  it  is  a  real  state  of  mental  uncertainty;  and  de- 
nunciation is  misdirected  if  aimed  at  this  state.  Let  it 
rather  be  directed  at  those  courses  of  conduct  which  have 
induced  it.  If  evil  courses  of  conduct  Have  resulted  in 
doubt  as  to  religious  verities,  it  should  be  remembered  that 
deeper  down  than  these  perverse  habits  lie  the  old  vital  needs 
which,  when  they  can  find  voice,  speak  always  in  favour  of 
the  religious  interpretation  of  the  world.  To  remove  the 
doubt  thus  originated,  the  most  effective  method  is  to 
awaken  from  their  somnolence  these  vital  needs  and  make 
them  vividly  conscious,  that  the  soul  may  be  flooded  with 
those  primal  and  powerful  feelings  on  the  waves  of  which 
belief  rides  to  rightful  dominion.  Criticism  of  the  immoral 
conduct,  coupled  with  sincere  sympathy  for  the  transgressor, 
is  the  appropriate  means  for  the  preacher  to  use.  To  de- 
nounce the  doubt  as  such  is  more  likely  to  strengthen  than 
to  dispel  it.  To  demonstrate  that  the  doubt  is  not  justified 
on  intellectual  grounds  is  ineffective,  because  it  does  not 
really  originate  in  the  inconsistency  of  belief  with  the  intel- 
lectual system,  and  therefore  a  merely  logical  reconciliation 
of  the  two  will  not  remove  it.  If  the  mere  disagreeable- 
ness  of  the  religious  truth  is  the  only  real  cause  of  its  being 
held  in  the  suspense  of  doubt  —  as  is  the  case  in  the  kind  of 
doubt  we  are  now  considering  —  it  is  only  necessary,  in 
order  to  turn  the  scales  in  its  favour,  to  arouse  a  more  pow- 
erful counter-feeling  which  springs  from  a  lower  depth  of 
the  personality. 

But  it  is  a  more  difficult  problem  to  deal  effectively  with 
the  doubt  which  arises  from  a  real  conflict  between  the  pos- 
tulates of  the  heart  and  the  intellectual  system  of  the  doubter. 
Here  denunciation  is  manifestly  absurd.  Denunciation  im- 


160  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

plies  moral  dereliction ;  and  in  this  case  the  doubter  is  con- 
scious that  moral  dereliction  is  not  the  source  of  his  doubt. 
Harsh  criticism,  the  prophecy  of  future  calamity,  dogmatic 
assertion  of  every  kind  fall  wide  of  the  mark,  and  are  likely 
to  be  interpreted  as  the  mere  rage  of  intellectual  impotency, 
The  rational  aspect  of  the  .doubt  must  be  squarely  met,  and 
should  be  met  in  the  broadest  and  fairest  spirit.  Here 
especially  personal  sympathy  and  kindliness  are  of  the  ut- 
most importance;  but  genuine  intellectual  sympathy  is 
needed  also;  and  it  is  not  always  easy  for  the  preacher  to 
have  this.  The  psychological  reason  for  this  difficulty  is 
easy  to  perceive.  The  mental  processes  involved  in  the  ex- 
ercise of  the  ministerial  function  render  it  easier  for  the 
preacher  to  maintain  an  attitude  of  belief  than  for  persons 
engaged  in  other  occupations.  We  do  not  mean  to  attribute 
to  preachers  anything  more  than  the  ordinary  weakness  of 
human  nature,  when  we  say  that  the  fact  that  it  is  to  his 
professional  and  economic  interest  to  maintain  that  atti- 
tude may  not  be  without  some  unconscious  influence  upon 
him.  It  is  only  to  assume  that  he  is  normally  human.  He 
must  maintain  an  attitude  of  positive  belief  in  order  to  be 
successful  in  the  work  to  which  he  has  devoted  his  life. 
Not  only  does  doubt,  if  it  becomes  chronic,  cripple  his 
real  effectiveness,  but  a  reputation  for  heresy  endangers  the 
prospect  of  his  securing  employment  by  the  churches.  Of 
course,  if  the  latter  consideration  comes  to  figure  even  semi- 
consciously  in  the  determination  of  his  attitude,  he  is  dwell- 
ing next  door  to  downright  dishonesty;  and  a  general  ac- 
quaintance with  preachers  forbids  the  assumption  of  this  as 
a  consciously  operating  motive  in  the  lives  of  any  except 
a  small  and  contemptible  minority  of  them.  On  the  con- 
trary, I  am  persuaded  that  in  some  cases  the  knowledge  of 
the  danger  of  being  subconsciously  influenced  by  this 
material  consideration  leads  conscientious  men  to  entertain 
suggestions  of  doubt  which,  perhaps,  otherwise  would  not 
trouble  them,  and  to  search  their  minds  with  an  excessive 


BELIEF  l6l 

keenness  of  scrutiny.  However,  after  all  has  been  said,  it 
would  be  an  assumption  of  their  superiority  to  ordinary 
human  limitations  to  suppose  that  good  ministers  are  never 
subject  to  the  unconscious  operation  of  this  influence. 

But  apart  from  this,  the  characteristic  direction  of  the 
preacher's  attention  tends  to  keep  his  mind  focused  upon 
the  religious  needs  of  men ;  these  needs  are  more  constantly 
vocal  in  his  own  consciousness  and  more  apparent  to  him 
in  the  lives  of  others  than  is  the  case  with  men  in  other 
occupations.  When  he  contemplates  the  intellectual  prob- 
lems of  religion  he  approaches  them,  therefore,  with  a  more 
pronounced  bias  in  favour  of  the  reality  of  the  objects  of 
religious  belief  than  other  men  usually  do.  The  reasons 
for  belief  receive  a  relatively  greater  emphasis  and  the  rea- 
sons against,  a  relatively  weaker  one  than  they  do  in  most 
other  minds  engaged  in  these  investigations.  Other  things 
being  equal,  therefore,  the  preacher's  peculiar  point  of  view 
and  modes  of  thought  render  it  easier  for  him  than  for  most 
other  men  to  maintain  an  attitude  of  positive- belief.  Other 
things,  to  be  sure,  are  not  always  equal ;  and  hence  it  should 
not  be  invariably  assumed,  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  others 
are  more  troubled  by  doubts  than  the  minister.  Especially 
should  we  bear  in  mind  that  the  minister,  if  he  uses  his 
opportunities  for  study  as  he  should,  will  become  acquainted 
with  many  of  the  intellectual  difficulties  pertaining  to  re- 
ligion which  many  of  his  hearers  who  are  not  engaged  in 
intellectual  pursuits  never  have  to  wrestle  with,  and  their 
belief  will,  therefore,  not  be  subjected  to  such  severe  tests 
as  his.  But  we  repeat  that,  other  things  being  equal,  he  will 
find  it  easier  than  others  to  maintain  a  positive  belief  in 
the  realities  of  religion.  For  this  reason  his  intellectual 
sympathy  with  doubters  is  likely  to  be  deficient.  Openness 
of  mind  as  to  these  matters  is  likely  to  decrease  with  the 
years;  and  without  conscious  effort,  motived  by  the  desire 
to  keep  in  sympathy  with  those  who  are  struggling  with  the 
intellectual  problems  of  religion,  his  bark  may  be  found  at 


l62  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

last  with  furled  sails  stranded  in  stagnant  waters  which  have 
been  cut  off  by  the  drifting  sands  from  the  deep  currents  and 
strong  winds  of  the  open  sea. 

If  the  preacher's  mission  is  to  get  the  truths  of  religion 
believed,  it  is  essential  that  he  should  present  them  in  such 
a  way  as  to  render  them  accessible  to  the  perplexed  and 
questioning  minds  of  this  age.  At  the  same  time  it  is  equally 
important  that  he,  while  apprehending  and  appreciating 
the  difficulties  of  the  doubter,  should  hold  and  present  his 
beliefs  with  the  positiveness  of  assured  conviction.  The 
doubter  is  not  assisted  in  the  attainment  of  mental  unity  by 
discovering  that  the  preacher  has  question  marks  paren- 
thetically inserted  after  all  his  more  important  statements. 
The  preacher  should  certainly  be  a  believer,  a  genuine  and 
enthusiastic  believer;  but  an  open  minded  believer.  His 
beliefs  should  not  be  of  the  hot-house  variety,  whose  life 
can  be  assured  only  by  keeping  them  in  an  atmosphere  arti- 
ficially warmed  under  a  glass  cover,  with  roots  protected 
from  the  chilly  soil;  but  should  have  the  health  and  hardi- 
hood of  the  plant  that  thrives  and  grows  amidst  the  winds 
and  frosts  of  the  open  air.  It  is  only  thus  that  he  can 
secure  the  confidence  of  the  doubter;  and  this  is  a  matter 
of  the  first  importance.  When  the  doubters  have  become 
convinced  that  he  is  a  brave  and  intelligent  believer  who  has 
not  shrunk  from  looking  squarely  in  the  eye  the  most 
frowning  difficulties,  a  believer  whose  crown  of  confidence 
is  lustrous  because  it  has  been  fairly  won  upon  the  battle- 
field, their  hearts  more  readily  open  to  him,  and  the  firm  ut- 
terance of  his  conviction  stirs  deeper  depths  in  their  souls. 
The  preacher  is  too  often  insulated  from  his  doubting 
hearers  because  they  think  that  he  does  not  understand  them 
and  can  not  sympathize  with  them,  and  they  too  often  have 
the  impression  that  he  would  have  less  assurance  if  he  had 
more  knowledge,  and  would  be  less  dogmatic  if  he  had  more 
courage.  But  the  preacher  who  can  convince  his  hearers  of 
his  open-mindedness,  his  absolute  sincerity  and  his  intellec- 
tual courage,  and  yet  proclaims  his  message  with  a  sure 


BELIEF  163 

note  of  positive  conviction,  blended  with  a  note  of  sincere 
sympathy  for  those  who  have  not  been  able  to  attain  to  his 
assurance,  will  grip  the  mind  and  heart  of  this  perplexed 
and  questioning  age.  He  will  be  a  real  defender  of  the 
faith,  because  he  will  be  a  builder  of  the  faith. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ATTENTION 

IN  the  development  of  a  mind  the  world  of  experience 
gradually  comes  to  be  clearly  distinguished  into  two  parts: 
the  ego  and  the  non-ego  —  the  me  and  the  not-me.  At  first 
the  self  is  not  differentiated  from  the  body;  but  with  the 
progress  of  the  intellectual  life  that  important  distinction  is 
made,  and  the  body  becomes  a  sort  of  middle  ground  be- 
tween the  self  and  the  not-self ;  while  the  former  deepens 
into  an  interior  psychical  centre,  the  focus  of  thought  and 
feeling,  and  the  latter  broadens  out  into  an  objective  world.1 
The  ego  becomes  a  point  and  the  non-ego  an  indefinite  exten- 
sion ;  the  one  a  unit  and  the  other  a  multitude.  The  multi- 
tude of  objects  stand  over  against  me,  the  subject;  and  life 
resolves  itself  into  a  series  of  adjustments  which  I  make  to 
these  objects.  I  am  one  and  at  a  given  instant  can  perform 
but  a  single  act,  though  that  act  may  be  either  a  simple  or  a 
complex  movement;  and  either  ideal  or  physical,  or  both. 
At  the  moment  I  can  make  the  adjustment  with  reference 
only  to  one  object,  or  a  small  group  of  objects  considered 
as  a  unit.  My  adaptation  to  my  environment  must  be  made 
bit  by  bit.  If  the  objects  which  compose  my  total  environ- 
ment were  all  vividly  and  equally  present  to  my  conscious- 
ness at  each  instant,  and  I  were  equipped  with  the  neces- 
sary capacity,  I  would  be  able  to  act  with  reference  to  all  of 
them  at  once ;  it  would  not  be  necessary  for  me  to  pick  out 
from  among  them  a  single  one,  or  a  small  group,  and  for  the 
instant  have  exclusive  or  primary  reference  to  them  in  my 
act.  But  as  it  is,  that  is  exactly  what  I  have  to  do.  My 

1  See  Baldwin's  "  Thought  and  Things,"  Vol.  I,  p.  250,  ff. 

164 


ATTENTION  165 

consciousness  must  focalize  upon  a  limited  section  of  my 
environment  at  every  moment  and  guide  my  action  with 
reference  to  that.1 

This  limitation  of  my  consciousness  would  be  very  unfor- 
tunate if  it  were  necessary  or  even  important  for  me  to  act 
with  reference  to  all  the  objects  in  my  environment  at  once. 
But  this  is  never  the  case.  Usually  it  is  only  one  or  a 
small  group  of  objects  to  which  at  a  given  instant  it  is 
necessary  for  me  to  adjust  myself;  the  rest  for  the  time 
being  can  be  disregarded.  Sometimes,  indeed,  one  is  placed 
in  a  situation  which  at  the  very  same  instant  requires  ad- 
justment to  a  number  of  objects  greater  than  his  capacity 
to  hold  together  in  consciousness.  If  the  adjustments  re- 
quired by  such  a  situation  are  of  a  vitally  important  charac- 
ter, there  is  grave  danger  of  injury;  and  if  there  is  no  peril 
involved,  there  is  danger  of  committing  an  embarrassing 
blunder.  If,  for  instance,  one  is  crossing  a  public  square 
which  is  thronged  with  swift  vehicles  moving  in  all  direc- 
tions, he  is  in  peril  because  he  needs  to  adjust  himself  at 
the  same  instant  to  a  greater  number  of  objects  than  he  can 
hold  in  clear  consciousness  at  once.  If  he  is  accosted  by  a 
number  of  persons  at  the  same  moment  he  is  confused  and 
embarrassed  for  the  same  reason.  In  such  situations  we 
are  helped  by  two  powers  of  the  mind.  First,  consciousness 
can  focus  upon  one  after  another  of  the  objects  with  great 
rapidity.  Second,  if  the  required  adjustment  is  one  which 
we  have  often  made,  it  will  be  made  automatically,  placing 
little  if  any  tax  upon  consciousness.  Usually  with  the  aid 
of  these  facilitating  capacities  of  the  mind  we  can  succeed 
in  adjusting  ourselves  to  such  situations  with  sufficient 
promptness  and  accuracy  to  avoid  destruction  and  attain  to 
a  considerable  measure  of  satisfaction. 

In  the  foregoing  statement  we  have  the  main  outlines  of 
the  doctrine  of  the  attention,  which  will  now  be  discussed 
in  detail. 

I.     Its    nature.     Attention    is    focalized    consciousness. 

1  See  Arnold's  "  Attention  and  Interest,"  p.  94. 


l66  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

Consciousness  is  always  to  some  extent  focalized.  Its  form 
is  a  bright  point  surrounded  by  an  indefinite,  fading  border, 
which  James  has  called  the  "  fringe."  It  is  a  matter  of  no 
importance  whether,  as  most  writers  state  it,  the  normal 
form  of  consciousness  be  conceived  as  that  of  a  clear  centre 
surrounded  by  a  border  which  gradually  shades  off  to  un- 
consciousness;  or,  according  to  others,  as  a  stream  which 
runs  "  at  two  different  levels,  the  higher  that  of  the  clear, 
the  lower  that  of  the  obscure."  *  In  both  cases  we  are  using 
figures  of  speech  which  are  not  to  be  taken  too  literally. 
Both  of  them  are  useful  figures  and  help  us  to  understand 
the  nature  of  the  attention.  The  more  intense  conscious- 
ness is,  the  more  pronounced  is  this  form ;  as  consciousness 
becomes  less  and  less  intense  the  form  becomes  less  pro- 
nounced, until  consciousness  and  its  form  disappear  together. 
To  attend  to  an  object  is  to  direct  the  focus  of  conscious- 
ness upon  it,  and  close  attention  is  intense  focalization.  In- 
attention is  usually  the  direction  of  the  focus  toward  some 
object  other  than  that  to  which  it  should  at  the  time  be 
directed.  Absolute  inattention  is  simply  the  disappearance 
of  consciousness.  Lax  or  careless  attention  is  low  intensity, 
accompanied  by  diversion  to  other  objects. 

II.  Its  function.  Attention  is  the  selective  action  of  con- 
sciousness—  the  picking  out  of  a  small  section  of  the  en- 
vironment from  among  the  multitude  of  things  that  encom- 
pass us  and  considering  that,  while  all  else  either  stands  in 
the  twilight  border,  or  is  enveloped  in  the  total  darkness 
which  surrounds  the  illuminated  area  of  consciousness.  All 
our  senses  are,  during  our  waking  hours,  so  many  open 
avenues  along  which  innumerable  impressions  are  reaching 
us  all  the  time.  Sights,  sounds,  contacts,  smells,  tastes, 
variations  in  temperature  are  making  their  appeals  to  us  from 
without,  while  from  within  numerous  organic  sensations 
are  continually  knocking  at  the  door  of  consciousness.  As 
a  matter  of  fact  few  of  these  stimuli,  either  from  without 
or  from  within,  get  recognition.  Most  of  them  never  get 

1  Tichenor,  "  A  Text-book  of  Psychology,"  p.  277. 


ATTENTION  167 

over  the  threshold  of  consciousness.  Most  of  those  which 
succeed  in  getting  beyond  the  threshold  are  never  ushered 
into  the  central  office  where  the  chief  business  of  life  is  being 
transacted.  Here  in  the  focal  point  of  consciousness  the 
main  process  of  adaptation  is  going  on.  Those  sensations, 
or  stimuli,  gain  admittance  there  which  are  directly  involved 
in  the  effort  we  are  making  to  get  into  more  satisfactory 
relations  with  the  environment.  What  sort  of  credentials 
must  they  present  to  gain  admittance  there? 

First,  they  may  appear  to  be  significantly  connected  with 
some  interest  which  we  are  at  the  time  pursuing.  In  pro- 
portion as  the  interest  with  which  they  are  connected  is  cen- 
tral in  our  purpose  will  their  claim  to  recognition  be 
strengthened,  and  also  in  proportion  to  what  we  conceive 
the  importance  of  their  relation  to  it  to  be.  If  you  are 
absorbed  in  the  effort  to  conclude  a  trade  with  a  man,  the 
colour  of  his  hair  will  not  be  likely  to  fix  your  attention, 
unless  it  should  be  taken  by  you  as  an  indication  of  his  tem- 
perament and  thus  become  related  to  the  dominant  interest 
of  the  moment.  On  the  other  hand,  if  you  had  made  a 
wager  with  some  one  that  you  would  meet  a  certain  num- 
ber of  red-haired  men  as  you  walked  down  the  street,  the 
colour  of  the  hair  of  each  man  you  met  would  attract  your 
attention.  If  a  geologist  and  a  botanist  should  walk  through 
a  certain  district  for  the  purpose  of  studying,  one  its 
geological  formation  and  the  other  its  flora,  their  attention 
would  be  attracted  by  entirely  different  objects.  If  the 
geologist  were  interested  in  a  secondary  way  in  botany  also, 
the  weeds  and  flowers,  trees  and  shrubs  would  receive  an 
incidental  share  of  his  attention;  but  his  interest  would  be 
chiefly  engaged  by  rocks  and  earth-deposits.  A  detective 
who  is  working  up  the  solution  of  a  problematical  crime  will 
be  attracted  by  certain  details  which  would  escape  the  notice 
of  the  average  person,  because  they  seem  to  his  expert  eye  to 
be  significantly  related  to  the  problem  he  is  trying  to  solve. 
To  sum  up,  attention  always  moves  along  the  line  of  in- 
terest. 


l68  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

Second,  those  objects  draw  attention  to  themselves  which 
are  out  of  the  ordinary,  and  do  so  in  proportion  to  their 
rarity  or  strangeness.  To  say  that  we  are  accustomed  to 
anything  is  to  say  in  other  words  that  we-  are  adapted  to  it ; 
and  as  attention  is  the  adaptive  function  of  consciousness  it 
must  concern  itself  with  that  which  is  not  customary.  And, 
since  attention  is  consciousness  engaged  in  the  process  of 
guiding  adjustment,  each  successive  act  of  adjustment,  after 
the  adaptation  has  been  effected,  falls  under  the  law  of  habit 
and  takes  place  with  less  attention,  or  even  while  it  is  di- 
rected elsewhere.  The  young  lady  sits  at  the  piano  and 
draws  the  harmony  from  its  keys,  but  her  attention  is  most 
likely  directed  upon  the  young  man  who  stands  by  her  side 
and  turns  the  pages  of  the  music ;  the  keys  and  notes  occupy 
the  obscure  margin  of  consciousness.  The  greater  number 
of  the  adjustments  we  are  actually  making  throughout  our 
waking  life  never  get  beyond  the  dim  borders  of  our  con- 
sciousness. It  is  the  unusual  adjustments  which  occupy  the 
foreground  of  the  mental  picture.  But  as  in  a  picture,  there 
is  no  sharp  demarcation  between  the  foreground  and  the 
background.  The  successive  acts  of  adjustments,  of  which 
the  substance  of  life  consists,  lie  all  the  way  between 
the  extremes  of  the  unconscious  and  habitual  and  the  abso- 
lutely new,  upon  which  the  surprised  consciousness  is  most 
intensely  focused.  The  reign  of  habit  is  continually  ex- 
tending over  the  realm  of  our  experience,  and  with  it  the 
shadow  of  the  unconscious  with  its  broad  fringe  of  twilight. 
And  the  darkness  would  ultimately  settle  upon  it  all  if  the 
realm  of  experience  were  not  extending  also.  It  is  the  en- 
trance of  the  new  into  our  lives  which  keeps  consciousness 
alert,  the  attention  active  and  the  intelligence  growing.  In 
people  who  live  under  monotonous  conditions  or  in  a 
comparatively  unchanging  environment,  consciousness  is  at 
a  low  tension;  in  people  who  live  in  a  changeful  environ- 
ment, it  is  at  a  high  tension.  The  attention  is  more  active 
because  it  is  continually  challenged  by  new  experiences. 
Consciousness  focalizes  upon  the  unusual,  for  the  obvious 


ATTENTION  169 

reason  that  there  is  where  it  is  needed  in  the  guidance  of 
adjustment. 

This  is  only  another  statement  of  the  principle  that  in- 
terest controls  attention.  The  fundamental  and  all-inclu- 
sive interest  of  life  is  adjustment,  and  hence  the  intrusion 
of  a  new  object  or  situation  into  our  experience,  even  though 
it  may  not  connect  itself  with  the  specific  purpose  which  is 
at  the  moment  controlling  conduct,  will  attract  attention 
because  it  directly  appeals  to  an  interest  which  includes  all 
others.  Yet  the  specific  and  momentarily  dominant  pur- 
pose may  have  so  completely  absorbed  the  consciousness 
that  a  new  situation  not  connected  with  it  would  have  to 
be  of  the  most  striking  or  pressing  character  to  displace  it 
from  the  focus, —  for  instance,  the  case  of  the  philosopher 
who  was  so  deeply  immersed  in  his  speculation  that  his  foot 
was  thrust  too  near  the  fire  and  the  sole  of  his  shoe  burnt 
off  before  he  became  aware  of  it.  Concentration  upon  any 
act  or  process  of  adjustment  is  well,  but  there  is  a  limit 
beyond  which  it  may  be  injurious ;  for  life  is  the  realization 
of  interests  through  continuous  adaptations,  and  our  in- 
terests are  numerous  and  varied.  There  is  a  possibility, 
if  we  suffer  attention  to  be  too  thoroughly  monopolized  by 
one  interest,  of  sacrificing  others  of  equal  or  greater  im- 
portance. 

Third,  from  the  foregoing  it  is  apparent  that  attention  is 
closely  related  to  volition.  Angell  remarks  that  "  volition 
as  a  strictly  mental  affair  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  a 
matter  of  attention.  When  we  can  keep  our  attention 
firmly  fixed  upon  a  line  of  conduct  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
competitors,  our  decision  is  already  made ! " *  When 
there  is  hesitation  and  difficulty  in  reaching  a  decision, 
it  results  from  the  fact  that  two  or  more  incompatible  lines 
of  conduct  are  present  in  -consciousness,  which  focalizes  now 
upon  one  and  now  upon  another.  When  focused  upon  one 
there  is  an  impulse  to  act  in  that  direction ;  then  as  the 
attention  is  drawn  to  the  other  a  motor  impulse  to  act  along 

1 "  Psychology,"  p.  345. 


170  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

that  line  accompanies  it.  The  direction  of  the  attention  on 
first  one  and  then  another  of  several  alternatives  is  the 
essential  thing  in  the  process  of  deliberation  which  precedes 
choice.  If  the  attention  can  be  kept  on  one  to  the  exclusion 
of  others,  the  action  will  take  place  along  that  line.  The 
fixing  and  holding  of  the  attention  upon  one  as  opposed  to 
the  others  is  the  act  of  choice,  is  decision,  is  all  that  there 
is  of  volition,  except  the  release  of  the  impulse  through  the 
motor  channels  of  expression.  But  this  leads  naturally 
to  the  consideration  of  the  different  kinds  of  attention. 

III.  There  are  three  kinds  of  attention ;  or  more  prop- 
erly speaking,  one's  interest  may  determine  the  direction  of 
his  attention  in  three  different  ways.  It  is  not  strictly  cor- 
rect to  speak  of  different  kinds  or  forms  of  attention,  for 
attention  is  always  simply  focalized  consciousness.  But 
that  focalization  takes  place  under  different  conditions,  and 
these  differences  really  constitute  the  basis  of  the  classifica- 
tion now  to  be  made. 

I.  Compulsory  attention.  This  is  the  attention  which  is 
directed  upon  a  stimulus  that  forces  itself  into  the  focus  of 
consciousness.  It  may  be  because  it  is  so  powerful  or  so 
persistent  or  so  startling,  or  has  some  other  quality  which 
enables  it  to  interrupt  the  mental  processes  that  are  going 
on.  A  loud  noise,  a  keen  or  gnawing  pain,  a  great  surprise, 
an  unexpected  good  fortune  —  whatever  it  may  be  that 
breaks  in  upon  the  current  of  one's  thoughts  and  forces 
them  in  another  direction,  or  powerfully  reinforces  the 
mental  processes  along  the  line  in  which  they  are  moving  — 
produces  compulsory  attention.  Interruption,  however,  is 
the  usual  characteristic  of  this  kind  of  attention.  These  in- 
terrupting experiences  which  we  can  not  neglect  occur  fre- 
quently during  our  waking  hours  and  sometimes  crash 
through  the  brittle  shell  of  slumber  within  which  the  brain 
retreats  from  the  stimulations  that  overtax  it.  They  can 
compel  attention  because  they  appeal  so  strongly  to  the 
fundamental  interest  of  life.  The  survival  interest  of  the 
organism  requires  that  such  sudden  or  unusual  changes  in 


ATTENTION  I?! 

the  environment  should  not  go  unheeded.  If  the  nervous 
system  be  in  a  state  of  excessive  irritability  many  stimuli 
which  have  in  them  no  menace  or  other  important  sig- 
nificance for  the  normal  constitution  and  might  safely  be 
neglected  under  ordinary  circumstances  force  themselves 
nevertheless  upon  the  consciousness  of  the  person  so  af- 
fected. But  the  abnormal  nervous  condition  gives  them 
special  significance  for  those  persons.  Sometimes  people 
have  abnormal  sensitiveness  to  certain  kinds  of  stimuli.  One 
may  be  so  fastidious  that  the  slightest  lack  of  tidiness  in  an- 
other may  disconcert  him ;  or  a  certain  tone  of  the  voice  may 
be  extremely  painful,  even  the  very  timbre  of  the  voice  may 
be  irritating ;  or  a  certain  gesture  or  attitude  may  be  so  un- 
pleasant as  to  divert  the  mind  from  the  ideas  of  a  speaker. 

It  not  unfrequently  happens  that  the  attention  which  a 
public  speaker  "  commands  "  is  of  the  compulsory  type.  It 
may  be  that  it  is  not  what  he  says,  but  his  manner  that 
compels  attention.  The  peculiarity  may  be  pleasant  or  un- 
pleasant. A  marvellously  musical  voice  may  bewitch  the 
ears  of  the  auditors ;  a  raucous  or  grating  or  squeaking 
voice,  an  unusual  intonation,  or  some  other  striking  charac- 
teristic —  attractive  or  repellent  —  may  irresistibly  arrest  at- 
tention until  through  familiarity  it  loses  its  compelling 
power.  If  it  is  not  positively  pleasing,  it  is  a  misfortune, 
and  stands  in  the  way  of  achieving  the  best  results,  because 
it  invests  the  ideas  the  speaker  is  presenting  with  disagree- 
able feelings,  and  draws  the  attention  of  the  hearers  upon  it- 
self and  therefore  away  from  what  he  is  saying.  Even  if 
not  unpleasant,  such  a  striking  mode  of  presentation,  when 
very  pronounced,  may,  though  winning  applause  for  the 
orator,  divert  attention  from  the  subject  matter  of  his  dis- 
course; whereas  his  subject,  his  cause,  the  speaker  and 
especially  the  preacher,  should  strive  always  to  keep  in  the 
focus  of  his  hearers'  consciousness.  In  a  word,  compulsory 
attention,  even  when  elicited  by  some  pleasing  peculiarity  or 
device  of  the  orator,  is  really  centred  upon  the  orator  him- 
self, or  his  method,  and  not  upon  his  message.  But  more 


172  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

often  compulsory  attention  is  unpleasant.  Frequently  the 
stimulus  itself  is  an  unpleasant  one,  and  even  when  it  is  not, 
it  usually  interrupts  the  current  of  consciousness ;  and  this  of 
itself  is  disagreeable,  though  if  the  object  or  situation  which 
obtrudes  itself  is  agreeable,  the  resulting  pleasure  may  im- 
mediately swallow  up  the  momentarily  unpleasant  sensation. 
But  to  this  disagreeable  sensation  is  added  the  irritation  of  a 
stimulus  which  is  offensive.  As  a  rule  the  experience  is 
annoying  or  painful. 

As  an  example  of  a  bold  oratorical  device  for  securing 
compulsory  attention,  the  story  —  how  authentic  I  do  not 
know  —  is  told  of  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  that  as  he  arose 
to  preach  one  warm  day,  he  wiped  the  perspiration  from 
his  brow  and  exclaimed,  "  It  is  damned  hot ! "  After  a 
pause,  he  explained  to  the  shocked  congregation,  "  That  is 
what  I  heard  a  man  say  awhile  ago  as  I  was  entering  the 
house,"  and  proceeded  to  preach  a  strong  sermon  against 
the  use  of  profane  language.  Of  course,  it  was  effective  in 
compelling  attention.  It  startled  everybody,  though  to 
the  sensation  lovers,  of  whom  there  were  perhaps  not  a  few 
present,  it  was  doubtless  a  pleasant  shock.  But  while  it 
compelled  attention  and  made  the  occasion  memorable,  may 
it  not  in  fact  have  diverted  attention  from  the  moral  and 
spiritual  import  of  his  message?  It  is  possible  that 
throughout  the  discourse  and  subsequently  when  the  occa- 
sion was  recalled  the  attention  of  those  who  heard  was 
focused  more  upon  that  startling  introduction  than  upon 
the  wholesome  lesson  which  his  sermon  inculcated.  It  is 
certainly  far  from  the  purpose  of  this  discussion  to  insist 
upon  tameness  as  a  duty  of  the  pulpit.  Alas!  there  seems 
to  be  no  occasion  for  that.  The  purpose  is  to  show  that 
often  the  devices  used  to  compel  attention  are  most  likely 
to  divert  it  from  the  subject  matter  of  the  discourse.  Per- 
haps the  line  between  the  legitimate  and  the  illegitimate  in 
sensation  should  be  drawn  just  here:  "sensationalism"  is 
objectionable  because  it  ordinarily  means  the  use  of  devices 
for  compelling  attention  in  such  a  way  that  the  interest  is 


ATTENTION  1/3 

centred  upon  the  speaker  himself,  or  his  methods,  rather 
than  upon  his  message. 

2.  Voluntary  attention,  in  which  the  concentration  of  the 
mind  takes  place  under  the  control  of  the  will.  It  is  a 
matter  of  choice,  and  is  based  upon  some  measure  of  delib- 
eration, or  weighing  of  alternatives.  It  implies  a  tendency 
to  attend  to  something  else.  This  divergent  tendency  has 
to  be  overcome,  which  involves  strain.  Voluntary  atten- 
tion presupposes  a  considerable  degree  of  mental  organ- 
ization, the  existence  of  a  plan  and  purpose  and  the  cen- 
tralized control  of  one's  energies  in  the  realization  of  the 
purpose.  Angell  says :  "  When  we  say  that  in  voluntary 
attention  we  force  ourselves  to  attend  to  some  particular 
object  or  idea,  what  we  evidently  mean  is  that  the  mind  in 
its  entirety  is  brought  to  bear  in  suppressing  certain  dis- 
turbing objects  or  ideas,  and  in  bringing  to  the  front  the 
chosen  ones.  The  act  of  voluntary  attention  is,  in  short,  an 
expression  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  whole  mind  over  its 
lesser  parts,  i.e.,  over  the  disturbing  or  alluring  ideas  and 
sensations/'  *  It  is  not  quite  correct  to  say  that  "  the  mind 
in  its  entirety  is  brought  to  bear  in  suppressing  certain  dis- 
turbing objects  or  ideas."  This  real  situation  is  that  there 
are  two  mental  tendencies  opposing  one  another,  and  the 
characteristic  note  of  the  process  is  the  effort  to  attain  men- 
tal unity,  to  bring  "  the  mind  in  its  entirety  "  to  act  along  a 
certain  line,  or  to  focalize  upon  one  object  to  the  exclusion 
of  others.  There  is  a  recurrent  swinging  of  the  attention 
away  from  one  object  of  interest  to  another  and  a  repeated 
pulling  of  it  back.  This  is  wearisome  and  disagreeable. 
There  is  not  only  much  unpleasantness  but  much  waste  of 
energy  in  the  exercise  of  voluntary  attention.  As  the  men- 
tal energy  diminishes  by  reason  of  the  strain,  the  unpleas- 
antness of  the  process  increases ;  there  is  a  decrease  of  power 
to  direct  the  mind  to  the  chosen  object,  or  more  properly 
speaking,  to  keep  the  choice  fixed  upon  a  certain  object ;  and 
after  awhile  the  point  is  reached  where  voluntary  attention 
1 "  Psychology,"  pp,  72-73. 


174  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

to  that  object  becomes  impossible  until  after  a  period  of 
rest. 

Now,  the  unpleasantness  which  accompanies  this  process 
of  straining  has  a  tendency  to  make  the  object  which  occa- 
sions it  repulsive.  The  facts  or  ideas  which  have  to  be 
learned  or  acquired  in  this  disagreeable  way  are  not  likely 
to  be  appreciated  —  certainly  not  at  the  time ;  and  the  danger 
is  that  they  may  become  permanently  associated  with  the 
disagreeable  feeling  incidental  to  the  strained  effort  to 
attend  to  them.  So  truths  of  great  value  may  be  forever 
discounted  in  the  mind  of  one  who  has  become  acquainted 
with  them  in  this  unfortunate  way.  One  can  hardly  doubt 
that  the  truths  of  religion  have  thus  often  greatly  suffered. 

But  one  may  well  ask,  how,  if  all  truth  is  to  be  com- 
municated in  such  a  way  as  to  avoid  this  effort,  is  the  will 
to  be  educated?  If  truth  must  regularly  be  presented  so  as 
to  make  the  minimum  draft  upon  the  voluntary  attention, 
how  will  one  acquire  the  power  of  voluntary  direction  of 
his  mind,  which  is  so  necessary  to  fit  him  to  cope  success- 
fully with  the  actual  conditions  of  life?  Surely  in  the  actual 
conduct  of  one's  life,  in  the  adjustment  of  oneself  to  an 
ever-changing  environment  which  takes  very  little  account 
of  personal  inclinations,  it  is  extremely  important  that  he 
should  acquire  the  self-mastery  which  can  come  alone  from 
the  oft-repeated  and  prolonged  exercise  of  the  voluntary  at- 
tention. 

It  is  evident  that  much  depends  upon  what  the  purpose  is 
in  presenting  truth.  If  the  purpose  is  exclusively  or  mainly 
disciplinary,  i.e.,  if  the  aim  is  to  develop  a  useful  mental 
habit,  one  method  will  be  appropriate.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  aim  is  to  get  certain  truths  accepted  most  readily, 
believed  most  heartily,  appreciated  most  highly  and  acted 
on  most  promptly,  another  method  will  be  suitable.  In 
preaching  and  in  all  forms  of  persuasive  oratory  the  latter 
purpose  is  controlling.  We  do  not  preach  for  the  purpose 
of  giving  the  hearers  a  needed  exercise  in  the  control  of 
the  attention;  preaching  is  not  adapted  to  that  purpose. 


ATTENTION  175 

The  hearer  is  at  liberty  to  attend  or  not ;  and  while  a  sense 
of  duty  may  constrain  some  conscientious  auditors  to  at- 
tend to  the  truth  uninterestingly  presented,  their  number  is 
not  large,  and  the  great  majority  will  most  certainly  exercise 
their  privilege  not  to  listen. 

The  preacher  or  other  public  speaker,  therefore,  should 
make  as  small  a  demand  as  possible  on  the  voluntary  atten- 
tion of  his  hearers.  If  he  finds  them  inattentive  it  is  gen- 
erally useless,  and  often  suicidal,  to  scold  or  lecture  them 
for  their  failure  to  listen.  If  they  listen  to  him  "  from  a 
sense  of  duty,"  they  will  give  him  at  best  only  a  divided 
attention ;  and  the  disagreeable  feeling  attendant  upon  the 
strain  not  only  reacts  against  him  personally  but  gives  a 
repellent  cast  to  the  truth  he  wishes  them  heartily  to 
receive.  Of  course  it  would  be  a  serious  mistake  to  present 
the  truths  of  religion  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  people 
believe  that  the  religious  life  is  "  a  primrose  path,"  an  easy 
way,  which  involves  no  toil  and  sacrifice  and  pain.  Deep 
and  serious  truth,  stern  duty,  arduous  struggle  for  high  and 
difficult  ideals  may  be  urged  upon  the  conscience  in  such  a 
way  as  to  associate  them  with  agreeable  feelings  and  invest 
them  with  an  ethical  charm  which  creates  enthusiasm  for 
them  in  the  human  heart.  But  it  certainly  does  not  con- 
tribute to  that  result  to  have  to  listen  to  their  presentation 
from  a  sheer  sense  of  duty.  To  contemplate  a  great  truth 
or  a  high  duty  through  the  medium  of  unpleasant  feelings 
aroused  by  the  necessity  of  giving  strained  attention  to  a 
dull  speaker  is  to  strip  the  truth  and  duty  of  the  charm 
which  they  naturally  have  for  the  normal  human  mind,  and 
with  which,  at  any  rate,  they  ought  to  be  invested  whenever 
possible. 

3.  Spontaneous  attention.  This  form  of  attention  may 
be  negatively  described  as  a  concentration  of  consciousness 
which  is  not  forced  by  an  external  stimulus  and  at  the  same 
time  is  without  internal  strain.  The  object  of  such  atten- 
tion is  not  thrust  into  the  focus  by  any  strong  or  sudden 
appeal  from  without,  nor  brought  and  held  there  by  an  effort 


176  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

from  within.  Positively  it  may  be  described  as  a  concen- 
tration of  consciousness  under  the  control  of  some  inclina- 
tion which  for  the  time  dominates  the  mind  without  any 
serious  competition.  We  often  give  attention  to  an  object 
at  a  certain  time  because  it  is  itself  so  interesting  that  it 
absorbs  the  mind.  In  compulsory  attention  we  attend  to  an 
object  not  because  it  is  interesting  to  us,  not  because  it 
appeals  to  a  present  dominant  inclination  in  us,  but  because 
our  organism  instinctively  takes  note  of  every  stimulus 
which  by  reason  of  its  sudden,  violent,  strange  or  strik- 
ing character  may  bear  an  important  relation  to  its  welfare ; 
because  it  may  menace  some  organic  interest.  The  response 
is  reflexive  or  instinctive.  In  voluntary  or  strained  attention 
there  is  a  competition  between  objects  that  appeal  to  differ- 
ent inclinations,  or  between  an  intrinsically  interesting  object 
and  some  stimulus  that  seeks  to  force  itself  upon  our  con- 
sciousness. But  in  spontaneous  attention  the  mind  is  dwell- 
ing on  something  which  is  in  itself  interesting,  and  so  in- 
teresting that  at  the  moment  it  takes  practically  complete 
possession  of  our  thoughts.  Under  such  circumstances  the 
mind  drifts.  The  attention  may  move  from  one  object  to 
another  quite  suddenly  and  rapidly;  but  the  drifting  and 
shifting  take  place  under  the  control  of  some  interest  which, 
having  its  origin  in  some  situation  or  other,  rises  to  the  sur- 
face and  for  the  moment  directs  the  current  of  thought. 
The  process  is  well  exemplified  in  our  reveries  and  day- 
dreams. What  we  think  about  when  we  "  turn  our  minds 
loose  "  and  nothing  disturbs  us,  are  objects  of  spontaneous 
attention. 

Now  these  inclinations  (or  interests)  which  select  the 
objects  of  spontaneous  attention  represent  the  constitution 
of  the  mind  as  at  the  time  organized.  The  mental  organ- 
ization is  revealed  also,  and  sometimes  more  adequately 
revealed,  in  voluntary  attention;  but  this  rather  represents 
the  mind  in  the  process  of  further  organization,  while  spon- 
taneous attention  simply  shows  the  mind  off  guard,  in 


ATTENTION  177 

relaxation,  and  is  one  of  the  surest  indications  of  the  present 
status  of  the  character. 

It  is  obvious  that  the  orator  should,  if  possible,  secure  for 
his  message  the  spontaneous  attention  of  his  hearers.  His 
message  may,  to  be  sure,  be  opposed  to  some  very  pro- 
nounced inclinations  of  theirs,  and  this  is  very  frequently 
the  case  with  the  preacher.  When  this  is  so  he  has  a  serious 
difficulty  to  overcome.  His  objective  may,  indeed,  be  to 
effect  a  profound  change  in  their  inclinations.  This  sets  the 
supreme  problem  for  the  orator,  and  it  calls  for  a  skill  in  the 
application  of  psychological  principles  which  amounts  to  a 
high  art.  How  shall  he  secure  the  spontaneous  attention 
of  his  hearers,  which  requires  him  to  present  his  message  so 
as  to  appeal  to  some  inclination  of  theirs,  when  the  message 
itself  opposes  some  of  their  strong  inclinations?  The  only 
way  is  to  stimulate  some  inclination  not  opposed  to  the  mes- 
sage so  effectively  that  it  will  overflow  their  consciousness 
with  the  corresponding  feelings  and  submerge  the  opposing 
inclinations.  This  is  the  noblest  function  of  the  great  art 
of  illustration ;  and  of  almost  if  not  quite  equal  value  is  the 
dramatic  art.  By  the  skilful  use  of  these  arts  the  message 
may  be  clothed  in  forms  which  enable  it  to  hold  the  spon- 
taneous attention,  even  if  otherwise  it  would  be  uninterest- 
ing or  positively  repellent.  The  remarkable  cultivation  and 
effective  use  in  recent  years  of  the  art  of  story-telling  for 
the  moral  and  religious  instruction  of  the  young  is  a  most 
striking  testimony  to  the  soundness  of  this  homiletical  prin- 
ciple —  secure  the  spontaneous  attention  of  the  hearer. 

IV.  Its  scope.  Many  experiments  have  been  conducted 
to  determine  how  many  objects  can  be  attended  to  at  the 
same  time,  and  apparently  very  different  conclusions  have 
been  reached  by  different  psychologists.  Some  of  them 
maintain  that  but  one  single  object  can  stand  in  the  focus  at 
a  given  instant;  others  that  as  many  as  six  objects  can  be 
attended  to  at  once.1  But  there  is  some  lack  of  clearness  in 

1  See  Tichenor's  "  Text-book  of  Psychology,"  pp.  287  ff. 


178  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

the  discussions  of  those  who  take  the  latter  position.  They 
seem  to  confound  the  attention  with  the  span  of  conscious- 
ness. The  span  of  consciousness  may,  and  perhaps  always 
does,  cover  several  objects,  but  this  includes  not  only  the 
clear  focus  but  the  less  clear  background  as  well.  When 
the  experimental  evidence  is  closely  studied  it  seems  to  es- 
tablish the  contention  that  we  can  focus  consciousness  on 
only  a  single  object  at  any  absolutely  single  point  of  time. 
That  object  may,  however,  be  complex,  i.e.,  may  consist  of 
several  objects  grasped  as  a  unity;  but  in  that  case  the 
separate  constituents  of  the  unity  do  not  stand  singly  in  the 
clear  focus,  nor  any  one  of  them,  but  the  entire  group  as  a 
group.  This  by  subsequent  acts  of  attention  may  be  broken 
up  into  its  elements,  and  its  parts  or  phases  attended  to  one 
after  another. 

V.  Its  constant  shifting.  The  narrow  scope  of  the  atten- 
tion would  be  exceedingly  unfortunate  were  it  not  compen- 
sated for  by  the  rapid  and  constant  flitting  of  attention  from 
one  thing  to  another.  If  we  should  compare  the  attention  to 
a  search-light  turned  upon  objects,  then  we  should  think  of 
it  as  darting  its  searching  beam  rapidly  now  this  way  and 
now  that.  No  one  can  have  failed  to  notice  this  character- 
istic of  his  mental  life.  The  attention  can  hardly  be  pinned 
down  to  a  single  point.  If  it  is,  consciousness  begins  to  drop 
toward  drowsy  extinction,  or  the  mind  falls  into  a  sort  of 
hypnotic  trance.  The  very  life  of  normal  consciousness 
consists  in  this  constant  moving  from  one  object  to  another. 
We  do  not  have  any  certain  knowledge  of  the  cause  of  this 
exceeding  restlessness  of  the  mind.  Is  it  due  to  the  speedy 
exhaustion  of  the  delicate  brain  cells  employed  in  any  act 
of  attention?  That  is  conceivable;  but  we  simply  do  not 
know.  Certainly  it  will  appear  to  be  a  most  fortunate 
characteristic  of  our  minds,  if  we  consider  a  few  facts  in 
their  relation  to  one  another. 

First,  is  the  fact  that  we  live  in  a  very  complex,  many- 
sided  environment.  We  have  to  bring  ourselves  into  ad- 
justment to  a  great  multitude  of  things.  Second,  these 


ATTENTION  179 

many  things  are  constantly  changing  their  positions  or  atti- 
tudes relative  to  ourselves;  or,  on  the  other  hand,  we  are, 
because  of  our  limitations  and  our  numerous  needs,  driven 
to  constant  changes  of  our  positions  and  attitudes  with  re- 
spect to  them.  Third,  as  we  have  already  said,  our  con- 
sciousness is  able  to  bring  itself  into  definite  and  clear  rela- 
tion with  but  one,  or  at  most  a  few,  of  those  objects  at  any 
moment.  Under  such  conditions  a  consciousness  which  re- 
fuses to  remain  fixed  upon  any  one  point  but  persistently 
moves  on  from  one  to  another  manifestly  has  a  decided 
"  survival  value."  To  be  sure,  its  shifting  is  not  at  random, 
though  it  may  often  appear  so.  Its  movements  are  not  un- 
related or  chaotic.  From  the  very  first,  organic  interest  ex- 
ercises a  general  directing  influence;  more  or  less  definite 
laws  of  association  play  their  part  in  regulating  the  move- 
ments; and  with  the  growth  of  experience  and  the  higher 
organization  of  the  mind  the  self-conscious  will  gains  an 
increasing  domination  over  this  activity.  But  the  movement 
is  incessant,  except  in  sleep  —  if  indeed  it  wholly  ceases 
then ;  and  by  virtue  of  it  we  are  able  to  carry  ourselves  with 
some  measure  of  safety  and  success  amidst  the  multitu- 
dinous objects  of  a  very  changeful  environment. 

What  this  characteristic  of  the  attention  means  for  the 
public  speaker  is  obvious.  The  attention  of  his  hearers  will 
move  on.  He  should  not  dwell  upon  a  single  point  longer 
than  is  necessary  for  them  to  grasp  it.  If  he  does,  one  of 
two  things  will  happen.  Either  they  will  become  drowsy  or 
their  minds  will  flit  away  to  other  things,  which  most  prob- 
ably will  be  wholly  unrelated  to  his  discourse.  In  any  case 
he  will  lose  their  attention,  and  any  method  he  may  adopt 
to  compel  them  to  listen  will  be  unavailing.  Speaking  of 
this  aspect  of  our  mental  activity  Angell  says :  "  So  far  as 
attention  is  really  an  activity  of  the  relating  or  adjusting 
kind  its  work  is  done  when  the  relation  between  the  mind 
and  the  thing  attended  to  is  once  established.  This  is  the 
mental,  as  distinguished  from  the  physiological,  part  of  the 
adjustment,  and  attention  must  go  elsewhere,  because  it  is 


ISO  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

intrinsically  the  adjusting  act  itself."  *  This  means  that  the 
discourse  must  have  movement ;  and  different  phases  of  the 
subject  must  be  presented  with  a  rapidity  corresponding 
to  the  rapidity  of  this  normal  mental  movement.  How  im- 
perative this  is  in  speaking  to  children,  a  very  little  expe- 
rience will  show.  But  in  fact  it  is  just  as  imperative  in 
addressing  adults  of  any  grade  of  maturity  and  culture. 
Adults,  especially  persons  of  culture,  can  grasp  more  com- 
plex ideas,  and  their  attention  can  therefore  be  held  longer 
within  a  given  field;  but  all  the  time  it  will  be  moving  from 
one  to  another  aspect  of  this  group  of  related  objects  or 
ideas.  The  shifting  of  the  attention  of  the  mature  is  just 
as  incessant  and  rapid  as  that  of  the  immature  mind.  It 
does  not  appear  to  be  so,  first,  because  the  mature  mind 
will  dwell  longer  within  a  given  field;  but  it  does  so  only 
because  it  finds  in  that  field  a  greater  number  of  points  of 
interest  upon  which  to  fix  the  attention.  Second,  it  does  not 
appear  to  drift  so  rapidly  as  the  mind  of  the  child,  because, 
having  better  voluntary  control  of  the  motor  nerves  and 
more  respect  for  the  conventionalities,  the  older  person  will 
not  be  so  "  fidgety  "  and  will  more  thoroughly  mask  his  in- 
attention; but  his  mind  will  be  leaping  away  from  the  dis- 
course which  does  not  move  on  to  fresh  phases  of  the  sub- 
ject, as  wantonly  as  that  of  the  child.  People  are  not  always 
giving  attention  when  they  sit  with  their  eyes  directed  to- 
wards the  speaker.  The  mature  mind  leaps  from  one  thing 
to  another  as  rapidly  as  the  immature,  but  it  does  not  leap 
so  far,  perhaps,  and  its  superior  control  of  the  muscles  may 
better  conceal  what  is  going  on.  "  Move  on  "  is  the  order 
which  Psychology  gives  to  the  speaker. 

If  he  is  rapid  and  skillful  enough  in  his  progress,  he  may 
control  the  mental  movement  of  his  audience ;  otherwise  that 
movement  will  go  on  under  the  control  of  inclinations,  in- 
terests, associations  which  may  be  quite  foreign  to  his  pur- 
pose. But  if  there  is  danger  of  going  too  slowly  it  is  also 
possible  to  move  too  rapidly  for  the  best  results,  and  this  is 

1 "  Psychology,"  p.  79 


ATTENTION  l8l 

especially  true  when  the  ideas  presented  are  complex.  A 
certain  time  is  necessary  for  the  attention  to  seize  adequately 
the  object  or  idea.  When  the  relation  is  once  established 
between  the  attending  mind  and  the  object,  another  should 
be  immediately  presented  in  order  to  prevent  wandering  to 
something  irrelevant;  but  sometimes  an  exceedingly  rapid 
speaker  will  present  his  ideas  in  such  quick  succession  that 
the  average  hearer  will  be  unable  adequately  to  seize  them, 
or  "  take  them  in."  The  result  is  a  confused  impression. 
Of  course,  the  time  required  varies  with  the  constitution  of 
different  minds  —  some  normally  acting  more  slowly  than 
others;  varies  also  according  to  age  —  the  adult  usually 
taking  less  time  than  the  child,  if  the  idea  is  at  all  complex ; 
varies,  too,  according  to  the  degree  of  culture  or  mental  dis- 
cipline—  the  trained  mind  acting  more  quickly  than  the 
untrained;  varies  further  according  to  mental  freshness  — 
fatigue  lengthening  the  time  necessary.  But  notwithstand- 
ing the  many  varying  factors  present  in  any  situation,  it  is 
a  safe  rule  that  phenomenally  slow  as  well  as  phenomenally 
rapid  presentation  should  be  avoided. 

VI.  Its  intensity  or  degree.  The  concentration  of  con- 
sciousness varies  in  intensity,  and  tends  to  vary  according 
to  regular  rhythms.  Attention  fluctuates,  is  wave-like.  It 
is  difficult  to  determine  even  approximately  the  normal 
length  of  these  waves.  Experimental  psychologists  have 
not  been  able  to  make  much  progress  in  reducing  this  aspect 
of  attention  to  definite  formulation.  It  is  settled,  however, 
that  in  visual  impressions  which  are  just  strong  enough  to 
be  perceived  there  is  a  fluctuation  of  a  few  seconds  in  length, 
which  very  closely  corresponds  to  a  certain  rhythm  of  the 
breathing  and  the  pulse-beat,  known  as  the  Traube-Hering 
wave.  Experience  teaches  also  that  there  are  longer  waves. 
They  might  be  called  minute  waves  and  hour  waves,  were 
it  not  that  the  use  of  these  terms  would  convey  the  impres- 
sion that  these  periods  of  concentration  and  relaxation  of 
consciousness  bear  some  exact  relation  to  these  measures  of 
time,  which  they  do  not.  In  fact,  so  many  factors  of 


1 82  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

variation  enter  in  —  such  as  individual  constitution,  the 
degree  of  mental  training,  mental  maturity,  fatigue,  etc. — 
that  it  is  impossible  to  make  any  statement  about  the  length 
of  these  that  is  at  once  general  and  accurate.  Hardly  any 
two  persons  can  be  supposed  to  have  an  equal  capacity  to 
maintain  their  attention  at  a  given  level  for  a  given  time. 
Nor  is  the  same  person's  capacity  hardly  ever  the  same  at 
two  different  times  or  with  respect  to  two  different  objects. 
All  that  can  be  said,  therefore,  is  that  there  are  fluctuations, 
varying  in  length  with  different  persons  and  with  the  same 
person  under  different  conditions,  which  usually  last  for 
some  seconds,  or  some  minutes;  and  others  longer,  which 
can  only  be  measured  by  hour  periods.  It  is  also  well  estab- 
lished not  only  by  common  experience  but  also  by  systematic 
experiment,  that  there  is  a  diurnal  fluctuation. x  "  The 
periods  of  the  day  most  favourable  for  work  are  the  former 
half  of  the  morning  and  the  latter  half  of  the  afternoon. 
The  morning  period  again  is  better  than  the  afternoon 
period."  This  conclusion  may  seem  to  be  negatived  by  the 
fact  that  many  persons  find  they  can  do  their  best  work  at 
night.  But  this  is  probably  due  to  the  fact  that  they  can 
then  work  more  free  from  the  distractions  which  fill  the 
hours  of  the  day,  and  which  are  so  likely  to  have  their  effect, 
no  matter  how  one  may  strive  to  isolate  himself  or  how 
apparently  unconscious  of  them  he  may  be,  and  not  to  an 
increase  of  the  attentive  power  at  that  period  of  the  day. 
However,  allowance  should  always  be  made  for  individual 
peculiarities. 

The  cause  of  these  fluctuations,  it  can  hardly  be  doubted, 
is  fatigue.  As  before  noted,  it  has  been  suggested  that  the 
rapid  shifting  of  the  attention  is  due  to  the  exhaustion  of 
the  cells  of  the  brain  involved  in  attending  to  successive 
objects.  That  would  imply,  however,  that  each  act  of  at- 
tention called  into  play  a  different  group  of  cells  from  that 
engaged  in  the  preceding  act.  Whether  that  is  so  or  not 
cannot  be  determined,  and  need  not  concern  us  here.  But 

1  Arnold,  "Attention  and  Interest,"  pp.  91,  247. 


ATTENTION  183 

the  evidence  is  strong  that  the  human  brain  is  differentiated 
into  a  number  of  areas  which  are  specialized  centres  of 
various  forms  of  mental  activity;  and  there  is  no  question 
that  attention  involves  nervous  tension,  nor  that  overtaxed 
brain  cells  respond  to  stimuli  more  slowly,  with  less  ac- 
curacy and  with  less  intensity  or  vigour  than  fresh  ones. 
We  have  good  ground  to  believe  that  when  a  tract  of  the 
brain  involved  in  any  form  of  mental  activity  becomes 
fatigued,  the  intensity  of  the  activity  must  be  lowered,  or 
in  case  of  complete  exhaustion,  altogether  stopped,  until 
recuperation  takes  place.  But  when  one  centre  or  group 
of  centres  becomes  fatigued,  a  flow  of  energy  from  sur- 
rounding areas  sets  in  to  restore  the  equilibrium.  Now, 
it  is  very  probable  that  variations  in  the  intensity  or  clear- 
ness of  the  attention  are  only  the  conscious  side  of  this 
process  of  exhaustion  and  recuperation.  The  shorter  fluc- 
tuations correspond  to  the  rise  and  fall  of  the  supply  of 
energy  in  the  smaller  areas,  and  the  longer  fluctuation  to 
this  process  in  the  larger  areas.1 

Skillful  public  speaking  must  take  cognizance  of  these 
conditions  of  the  mental  life.  It  is  manifest  that  voluntary 
attention  imposes  a  very  heavy  tax  upon  the  nervous  energy ; 
spontaneous  attention  makes  a  much  lighter  draft.  This 
is  an  additional  reason  for  seeking,  whenever  practicable, 
attention  of  the  latter  type.  But  in  any  case,  and  especially 
when  the  speaker  can  only  avail  himself  of  the  voluntary 
attention  of  the  hearer,  the  discourse  should  certainly  adapt 
itself  to  the  inevitable  fluctuations  of  this  function.  Speak- 
ing generally,  the  sentence  should  correspond  to  a  single 
pulse  of  the  attention.  This  is  particularly  true  of  the 
spoken  sentence;  for  in  reading  a  written  sentence  the 
reader  may  expend  upon  it  two  or  more  pulses  of  attention, 
but  with  the  spoken  sentence  this  is  hardly  practicable. 
Likewise  we  may  say  that  the  paragraph,  or  in  spoken  dis- 
course, the  development  of  a  single  point  or  brief  phase  of 

1  For  an  interesting  discussion  of  this  whole  subject,  see  "The 
Fluctuation  of  the  Attention,"  by  Hylan,  Psychological  Review 
series  of  Monograph  Supplements,  Vol.  II,  No.  2. 


184  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

the  thought,  should  in  a  general  way  correspond  to  the 
longer  wave  —  what  we  have  called  a  minute  wave,  though 
the  phrase  does  not  indicate  that  it  is  just  a  minute  in 
length.  And  so  the  discourse  should  in  a  general  way 
answer  to  what  we  have  called,  for  want  of  a  better  designa- 
tion, the  hour  wave,  though  it  should  not  be  forgotten  that 
the  phrase  does  not  mean  that  it  should  be  exactly  an  hour 
long,  but  simply  that  it  can  be  measured  only  in  terms  of 
the  hour.  But  should  the  discourse  occupy  the  whole 
length  of  this  wave?  If  it  does,  it  will  end  with  the  down- 
ward dip  of  the  wave,  and  the  address  which  concludes  with 
the  attention  of  the  hearers  relaxed  will  be  to  a  large  extent 
ineffective.  If  the  discourse  must  be  a  lengthy  one,  and 
especially  when  delivered  to  a  popular  audience,  it  should 
be  broken  somewhere  near  the  middle  by  something  divert- 
ing and  relaxing.  If  the  audience  is  composed  of  persons 
who  have  formed  the  habit  of  giving  long-continued  close 
attention  to  the  subject  matter  of  the  discourse  or  matters 
related  thereto,  one  may  reasonably  calculate  upon  holding 
their  sustained  attention  to  the  end ;  but  not  otherwise.  In 
preaching  and  all  forms  of  popular  discourse,  an  address  of 
such  length,  unless  broken  in  half  by  a  few  moments  of 
diversion  and  relaxation,  will  inevitably  produce  weariness, 
and  probably  disgust.  It  is  not  an  accident  that  for  serious 
discourses  such  as  sermons  to  popular  audiences  a  conven- 
tional limit  of  about  thirty  minutes  has  been  set.  It  is  de- 
manded by  the  laws  of  the  attention.  A  discourse  of  this 
character  should  occupy  only  the  upward  swell  of  the  longer 
attention  wave.  Nor  is  it  an  accident  that  popular  lec- 
tures, which  are  usually  at  least  an  hour  long,  are  required 
to  be  interspersed  with  diverting  passages,  even  when  their 
aim  is  instruction.  If  they  are  intended  to  be  simply  enter- 
taining, i.e.,  if  they  appeal  chiefly  or  exclusively  to  the  emo- 
tions of  the  audience,  they  should  consist  not  entirely  of 
humour  or  pathos,  but  of  alternations  of  the  two;  for  the 
normal  human  mind  soon  tires  of  humour  or  pathos  alone, 


ATTENTION  185 

and  the  attention  becomes  lax  unless  relieved  by  a  swing  in 
the  opposite  direction. 

The  laws  of  the  attention  set  limits  and  standards  for 
public  discourse  which  the  speaker  ignores  at  the  peril  of 
failure. 


CHAPTER  IX 

VOLUNTARY   ACTION 

WHAT  do  we  mean  by  voluntary  action?  To  say  that  it 
is  action  directed  or  controlled  by  the  will  is  no  answer ;  for 
the  question  only  recurs  in  a  different  form  —  what  is  the 
will?  Voluntary  action  may  be  denned,  somewhat  tech- 
nically, as  the  intelligent  reaction  of  the  organism  to  stimuli 
—  a  definition  which,  while  it  involves  all  the  essential 
elements  of  the  voluntary  process,  requires  much  explana- 
tion. 

Two  fundamentally  important  truths  about  life  need 
to  be  clearly  conceived  in  order  to  secure  a  satisfactory  idea 
of  the  function  of  will. 

i.  The  first  is  the  responsiveness  of  the  living  being  to  its 
surroundings.  The  organism  is  continually  played  upon  by 
numerous  influences  and  answers  by  responses  from  within. 
All  action  is  reaction.  One  does  not  act  in  vacuo,  but 
always  with  respect  to  some  situation.  From  the  simple 
reflexes  up  to  the  most  complicated  series  of  intelligent 
actions,  activity  always  has  reference  to  some  factor  or 
factors  of  the  environment.  The  life-process  in  one  of  its 
most  important  aspects  consists  of  a  series  of  reactions  to 
stimuli.  The  process  seems  to  follow  a  certain  rhythm, 
periods  of  comparative  quiescence  and  activity  following 
one  another  with  a  general  regularity ;  but  response  to  en- 
vironing conditions  never  wholly  ceases  in  a  living  being. 
The  man  who  is  in  a  profound  slumber  is  not  absolutely  out 
of  touch  with  his  surroundings,  unless  he  is  sleeping  the 
sleep  of  death. 

Furthermore,  when  the  organism  is  stimulated  and  reacts, 

186 


VOLUNTARY   ACTION  1 87 

this  experience  leaves  a  trace  in  it,  i.e.,  in  some  way  modi- 
fies it ;  and  as  a  result  of  this  modification  the  response  to  a 
subsequent  stimulus,  of  the  same  or  of  a  different  kind,  will 
not  be  quite  the  same  as  before.  These  traces  left  in  the 
organism  and  the  resulting  modification  of  subsequent  re- 
sponses may  be  so  slight  as  to  escape  the  most  discriminat- 
ing observation.  Indeed,  in  the  lower  ranges  of  life  they 
are  hardly  observable,  and  the  truth  of  the  statement  as 
applied  to  the  lowest  ranges  may  be  fairly  called  in  ques- 
tion. It  is  probable,  however,  that  wherever  there  is  life 
some  slight  organic  modification  results  from  experience 
but  on  the  inferior  levels  it  is  of  negligible  importance  so 
far  as  the  history  of  the  individual  organism  is  concerned. 

The  decreasing  importance  of  these  modifications  in  the 
lower  grades  of  life  is  only  one  aspect  of  the  general  truth 
that  responsiveness  to  environment  increases  as  the  scale  of 
life  is  ascended.  In  fact,  the  relative  position  of  an  or- 
ganism in  the  scale  of  life  is  determined  by  its  responsive- 
ness to  environment.  In  the  vegetable  kingdom  the  rose- 
bush responds  to  climatic  or  seasonal  changes,  but  the 
limits  within  which  it  may  respond  are  very  narrow.  It  is 
rooted  to  one  spot,  unless  transplanted  by  human  skill.  In 
that  fixed  locality  it  may  dress  itself  in  green  and  blush 
with  red  blossoms  under  the  caressing  touch  of  Summer. 
But  how  much  more  restricted  is  its  adaptability  than  that 
of  the  wild  goose,  which  feels  the  approach  of  Winter  from 
afar  and  wings  its  way  after  the  retreating  Summer;  or  of 
the  animals  which  freely  rove  abroad  in  search  of  food  and 
protect  themselves  from  the  cold  blasts  by  heavy  coats  of 
hair  or  even  acquire  the  skill  to  build  themselves  shelters 
against  the  storms?  But  animal  adaptability  sinks  into 
insignificance  as  compared  with  the  capacity  of  man  to  bring 
himself  into  satisfactory  relations  with  a  complex  and 
changing  environment. 

The  modes  of  responsiveness  which  characterize  these 
three  grades  of  life  —  the  vegetable,  the  animal  and  the 
human  —  are  sensitivity,  sensitivity  plus  motility,  and  sen- 


l88  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

sitivity  plus  motility  plus  rationality.  "  Sensitivity "  is, 
I  know,  a  very  questionable  word  with  which  to  indicate 
the  mode  of  responsiveness  which  characterizes  vegetable 
life,  because  it  has  acquired  its  meaning  in  application  to 
animal  organisms;  but  there  is  no  existing  word  which  is 
more  appropriate.  Its  etymology  is  against  this  use  of  it ; 
but  in  the  absence  of  a  suitable  term  I  venture  to  stretch 
the  proprieties  of  language  so  far  as  to  use  it  in  this  appli- 
cation. By  motility  is  meant  the  ability  of  an  organism  to 
move  itself  from  place  to  place  by  the  contraction  of  the 
muscles  of  some  of  its  organs.  Precisely  what  is  meant  by 
rationality  will  be  explained  a  little  later.  It  will  be  noted 
that  each  higher  grade  retains  the  mode  or  modes  of  adap- 
tability of  that  which  is  below  it,  while  on  the  higher  level 
these  modes  are  far  more  highly  developed.  The  plant  has 
what  I  have  called  "  sensitivity,"  for  want  of  a  better  term ; 
but  the  animal  has  sensitivity  more  highly  and  variously 
developed  than  the  plant  and  has  motility  in  addition.  Man 
has  both  sensitivity  and  motility  far  more  highly  and 
variously  developed  than  the  animal,  notwithstanding  the 
fact  that  in  some  specific  senses  and  in  some  specific  forms 
of  locomotion  he  may  be  inferior  to  some  animals ;  and  has 
in  addition  the  wondrous  capacity  of  rationality.  Of  course 
there  are  no  absolute  lines  of  demarcation  between  these 
modes ;  each  lower  one  merges  into  the  next  higher.  There 
are  plants,  for  instance,  which  seem  to  possess  in  some  small 
measure  the  mode  of  adaptation  which  we  call  motility ;  e.g,. 
the  sensitive  plants  have  contractility,  which  is  the  funda- 
mental element  in  motility.  It  is  even  more  difficult  to 
determine  at  what  point  exactly  rationality  is  added  to 
motility;  and  yet,  broadly  speaking,  we  know  that  it  is  a 
distinctively  human  characteristic,  though  there  may  be 
suggestions  of  its  presence  in  the  higher  animals. 

If  we  look  at  this  advance  from  the  lower  to  the  higher 
modes  of  adaptability  from  another  point  of  view,  there  is 
at  once  evident  a  corresponding  increase  in  the  complexity 
of  the  physical  organization.  The  organization  of  the  plant 


VOLUNTARY   ACTION  189 

is  complex  enough  almost  to  baffle  our  efforts  at  analysis. 
But  it  is  not  to  be  compared  with  the  intricate  differentia- 
tion of  functions  in  the  animal  body.  The  latter's  elab- 
orate apparatus  of  bony  and  muscular  structure,  of  nutri- 
tive and  circulatory  functions  and  of  specialized  senses,  all 
interrelated  in  a  maze  of  simple  and  compound  reflex  ner- 
vous circuits,  forms  a  microcosm  which  excites  the  amaze- 
ment of  every  intelligent  student.  But  one  is  lost  in  won- 
der when  he  penetrates  beyond  the  physiological  organ- 
ization into  the  biological  realm  and  begins  to  consider  the 
microscopical  constitution  and  organization  of  the  highly 
specialized  cells  of  which  these  several  organs  are  composed. 
The  body  of  man  duplicates  the  essential  functions  of  the 
animal  organism,  while  in  the  human  brain  it  comes  to  be  a 
veritable  marvel  of  unity  in  complexity,  wherein  the  reflex 
and  instinctive  nervous  organization  of  the  animal,  suitably 
modified,  is  crowned  with  a  dome  of  grey  matter,  the  subtile 
intricacy  and  delicacy  of  whose  organization  constitutes  the 
miracle  of  the  material  universe.  It  is  a  material  instru- 
ment which  places  at  the  disposal  of  man  a  vast  range  and 
variety  of  possible  reactions  upon  his  environment.  In 
some  mysterious  way  it  is  intimately  related  to  conscious- 
ness, using  the  word  in  its  narrower  and  more  usual  mean- 
ing; and  in  an  equally  mysterious  way  it  seems  closely  con- 
nected with  that  capacity  in  which  man  so  far  excels  all 
lower  creatures  —  the  power  to  retain  and  revive  past  in- 
dividual experiences. 

This  leads  me  to  observe  that  corresponding  to  this  rising 
scale  of  organic  complexity  there  is  a  parallel  psychical  de- 
velopment. We  are  at  a  loss  to  characterize  the  mode  of 
life  of  the  vegetable  kingdom ;  but  we  are  safe  in  assuming 
that,  properly  speaking,  it  is  not  a  psychical  life.  There 
is  nothing  in  the  plant  corresponding  to  consciousness  in 
the  ordinary  sense  of  that  word.  Those  who  take  con- 
sciousness to  be  a  universal  quality  or  mode  of  life,  must, 
of  course,  make  it  co-extensive  with  life;  and  must,  there- 
fore, maintain  that  there  is  a  vegetable  consciousness.  But 


190  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

in  the  sense  in  which  the  word  is  used  throughout  this  book 
it  is  not  applicable  in  that  realm.  Can  the  life  of  the  lowest 
forms  of  animal  organisms  be  regarded  as  psychical?  Is 
consciousness,  in  the  ordinary  acceptation  of  the  word, 
found  in  those  protoplasmic  beings  which  are  not  killed  when 
divided,  but  each  of  whose  parts  persists  as  an  independent 
being?  Here  we  are  on  debatable  ground;  but  we  may 
be  sure  that  whatever  consciousness  may  be  there,  if  any, 
is  of  an  exceedingly  low  order  —  so  dim,  diffused  and  con- 
fused as  hardly  to  merit  the  name.  In  the  higher  species 
of  animals  consciousness  is  unquestionably  present;  but 
there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  it  is  still  quite  vague  and 
indefinite,  and  plays  a  subordinate  role  in  their  history. 
Their  activities  are  dominated  by  automatisms,  reflexes  and 
instincts,  and  whatever  consciousness  is  connected  with 
these  activities  is  not,  except  in  a  very  low  degree,  con- 
trolling; but  in  the  main  is  merely  accompanying  and  ob- 
servant. Angell  remarks  that  "  we  shall  find  conscious- 
ness at  those  points  where  there  is  incapacity  on  the  part 
of  the  purely  physiological  mechanism  to  cope  with  the  de- 
mands of  the  surroundings.  If  the  reflexes  and  automatic 
acts  were  wholly  competent  to  steer  the  organism  through- 
out its  course,  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  conscious- 
ness would  ever  put  in  its  appearance."  1  As  the  autom- 
atisms and  reflexes  prove  inadequate  to  adjust  the  organism 
to  a  varied  and  changing  environment  there  is  developed  the 
cortex  of  the  brain,  which  in  one  of  its  important  functions 
may  be  likened  to  a  highly  complicated  switch-board.  By 
means  of  this,  an  incoming  stimulus,  instead  of  running 
mechanically  over  a  fixed  path  to  predestined  motor  results, 
can  be  switched  on  to  any  one  of  a  great  number  of  motor 
tracks,  or  may  be  simultaneously  connected  with  several 
systems  of  motor  nerves  commanding  the  activity  of  as 
many  bodily  organs.  Or  the  stimulus  may  be  totally  in- 
hibited, in  which  case  it  is  dissipated  in  a  general  and  more 
or  less  violent  agitation  or  tension  of  the  entire  nervous 

*  "  Psychology,"  p.  58. 


VOLUNTARY   ACTION  IQI 

system.  In  either  case  the  significant  thing  is  that  it  is 
controlled.  But  how  ? 

Man  has  the  unique  power  of  retaining  his  past  experi- 
ences in  the  form  of  mental  images  and  of  using  them  rep- 
resentatively, of  combining  them  in  lengthy  series  of  con- 
cepts and  judgments,  in  the  light  of  which  he  deals  with  new 
situations  as  they  arise.  This  is  rationality.  When  stimuli 
of  variant  and  often  contradictory  tendencies  come  into  his 
experience  and  compete  with  one  another,  these  ideas  in 
which  his  past  experience  is  stored  up  are  revivified  and 
under  their  guidance  he  resolves  the  conflict  —  he  chooses. 
This  choice  follows  upon  suspense  (the  arrest  of  the  motor 
response),  however  brief,  and  deliberation  (the  weighing 
against  one  another  of  the  relevant  considerations  arising 
from  past  experience)  ;  and  it  precedes  the  liberation  of  the 
impulse  along  a  certain  motor  path.  It  is  the  end  of  the 
deliberating  process,  which  is  intellectual,  and  the  beginning 
of  the  acting  process,  ^hich  is  motor  —  the  point  at  which 
the  one  process  passes  into  the  other.  Some  impulses  are 
inhibited  and  others  are  given  the  right  of  way ;  or  some 
compromise  is  effected  and  the  antagonistic  impulses  are 
unitedly  turned  in  a  direction  different  from  that  in  which 
either  was  tending.  The  action  is  directed,  controlled  by 
the  mental  life  as  organized  in  individual  experience,  i.  e., 
by  the  personality ;  and  exactly  herein  lies  the  unique,  char- 
acteristic quality  of  voluntary  action.  A  reflex  action  is 
not  voluntary.  I  do  not  will  to  withdraw  my  hand  when 
it  comes  in  contact  with  a  coal  of  fire,  though  I  may  will  not 
to  withdraw  it.  A  purely  instinctive  action  is  not  volun- 
tary :  a  man  does  not  will  to  flee  from  a  lion  which  is  charg- 
ing upon  him,  nor  are  the  successive  co-ordinations  of  his 
muscles  in  the  process  of  flight  acts  of  will.  Voluntary 
action  is  that  in  which  the  reflexive  and  instinctive  activities 
are  in  some  measure  brought  under  the  deliberate  control  of 
intelligence. 

The  relation  of  will  to  a  series  of  reflexive  or  instinctive 
actions  may  be  simply  that  of  initiation.  We  may  volun- 


IQ2  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

tarily  start  a  foreseen  train  of  such  actions  and  then  it  is 
fair  to  call  the  whole  series  voluntary.  When  a  base-ball 
player  runs  a  base  there  may  be  but  one  act  of  volition,  a 
setting  off  a  whole  train  of  reflexive-instinctive  muscular 
contractions,  but  we  rightly  call  the  whole  complex  act  of 
running  the  base  voluntary.  Habitual  actions  may  likewise 
be  voluntary,  in  that  they  may  represent  original  choices 
in  the  formation  of  the  habit ;  and  after  the  habit  has  become 
fixed  a  train  of  habitual  acts  may  be  voluntarily  initiated, 
"  touched  off,"  as  it  were,  by  a  single  volition,  as  when  a 
pianist  begins  to  play  a  piece  of  familiar  music.  But  always 
and  everywhere,  if  the  action  is  truly  voluntary,  it  must  be, 
either  mediately  or  immediately,  the  result  of  choice  and 
under  the  direction  of  intelligence,  the  organized  indn 
vidual  experience,  the  personality. 

II.  A  second  fundamental  fact  of  life  must  be  consid- 
ered if  we  would  properly  appreciate  the  significance  of  the 
function  of  will.  To  Bergson  chiefly  we  owe  the  keen 
realization  of  the  forth-reaching,  onward-moving  character 
of  life.  Duration  or  time  is  its  element,  change  is  its 
process.  It  is  essentially  transitive  and  dynamic,  the  very 
antithesis  of  the  static.  At  each  instant  it  tends  to  pass, 
and  is  passing,  from  one  state  into  another.  This  charac- 
teristic becomes  more  pronounced  as  the  level  of  life  rises. 
It  is  more  obvious  in  the  animal  than  in  the  vegetable ;  more 
manifest  in  man  than  in  the  beast.  Increase  the  volume  of 
life,  and  its  "  urge,"  its  forward  tension,  its  projection  (elan) 
seems  to  increase  proportionately.  We  may  question,  in- 
deed, whether  it  does  not  increase  in  geometrical  rather  than 
in  arithmetical  ratio.  Perhaps  its  nearest  analogue  is  the 
law  of  physical  motion  —  the  momentum  is  the  mass  multi- 
plied by  the  velocity.  Life  and  its  manifestations  are  not, 
of  course,  like  material  objects  and  movements,  capable 
of  mathematical  formulation.  But  certainly  with  its  on- 
ward movement,  its  transition  through  time,  it  normally 
develops  in  volume,  and,  with  its  fuller  development,  its 


VOLUNTARY  ACTION  193 

dynamic  forward  trend,  its  self -pro]  action  into  the  future, 
increases  in  energy. 

What  is  of  even  greater  importance  is  that  the  onward 
movement  of  life  not  only  increases  in  energy  as  it  attains 
to  higher  levels,  but  is  more  and  more  consciously  directed 
towards  ends.  It  is  telic  from  the  beginning  in  the  sense 
that  it  is  moving  towards  ends ;  but  on  the  lower  levels  the 
striving,  so  far  as  individual  organisms  are  concerned, 
seems  to  be  blind.  The  ends  are  not  anticipated,  not  fore- 
casted; the  goal  toward  which  the  energies  are  directed  is 
not  present  in  the  form  of  an  idea  in  consciousness.  In- 
deed, as  we  have  already  pointed  out,  consciousness  does 
not  seem  to  exist  in  the  sub-animal  forms  of  life,  and  pos- 
sibly not  in  the  very  lowest  of  the  animal  forms ;  and  in  the 
higher  of  them  it  is  certainly  vague  and  nebulous.  The 
illumination  of  consciousness  in  the  sphere  of  the  inverte- 
brates may  be  likened  to  that  of  a  starless  night,  and  in  the 
higher  beasts  probably  never  rises  above  the  relative  inten- 
sity of  starlight.  In  a  consciousness  so  highly  developed  as 
that  of  a  dog,  "  coming  events  may  cast  their  shadows  be- 
fore," provided  they  are  quite  near  in  time,  but  then  in  all 
probability  only  as  dim  apprehensions,  vague  fore-feelings. 
How  different  with  man !  Probably  in  no  respect  is  the  nor- 
mal human  consciousness  more  sharply  differentiated  from 
the  indefinite  psychic  life  of  the  lower  creatures.  Man 
looks  ahead.  He  forms  a  quite  definite  mental  picture  of 
the  future.  He  sets  ends  for  his  activity;  he  constructs 
ideals.  True,  his  ideals  are  not  always  sufficiently  in  har- 
mony with  reality  to  be  practicable ;  and  when  his  ideals  are 
practicable,  his  power  of  accomplishment  often  falls  far 
short  of  their  realization.  His  forecasts  may  be  cruelly 
mocked  by  events  which  he  could  neither  foresee  nor  con- 
trol. Disappointment  which  often  amounts  to  tragedy  is 
an  inevitable  incident  of  this  incessant  forecasting  and 
planning,  and  the  tension  of  anxiety  often  drains  off  into 
useless  channels  the  energy  which  should  be  devoted  to 


194  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

achievement,  but  the  forecasting  and  planning  will  not 
cease. 

With  the  extension  of  experience  and  the  accumulation  of 
ideas  in  which  that  is  treasured,  with  the  growth  of  the  con- 
structive imagination,  which,  from  the  psychological  point 
of  view,  is  the  main  line  of  human  development,  man 
projects  his  life  more  and  more  consciously,  more  and  more 
definitely  and  with  ever-increasing  energy  into  the  future, 
and  strives  to  control  its  development  according  to  definite 
plans,  and  with  increasing  success.  As  the  future  becomes 
the  past,  the  plans  undergo  continual  modification ;  but  nor- 
mally they  do  not  contract  but  expand  and  take  in  further 
stretches  of  the  future.  This  is  true  of  individual  expe- 
rience and  also  of  collective  life.  As  a  man's  personality 
develops  he  realizes  more  keenly  that  his  individuality  is  a 
thread  in  the  whole  cloth  of  human  destiny  which  is  being 
woven  upon  the  loom  of  the  ages.  He  identifies  himself 
more  completely  with  the  whole  past,  the  whole  present  and 
the  whole  future  of  humanity  and  this  lengthens  his  per- 
spective, in  every  direction.  His  consciousness  becomes  a 
focal  point  of  light  which  penetrates  the  veil  of  darkness 
that  shrouds  the  things  that  have  been  and  illuminates  with 
steadier  and  stronger  beams  the  track  along  which  he  is 
moving  into  the  things  that  are  to  be.  But  in  the  future  his 
interest  is  more  and  more  definitely  located  as  his  develop- 
ment proceeds,  and  the  past  and  the  present,  in  the  last 
analysis,  claim  his  attention  chiefly  because  of  their  pos- 
sible bearing  upon  that  contingent  part  of  his  destiny  which 
lies  ahead  of  him. 

Now,  voluntary  action  is  that  which  is  directed  toward  a 
consciously  conceived  or  imaged  end.  The  forecast  of  the 
future  is  its  motive.  We  might  say  that  instead  of  being 
pushed  or  driven  from  behind,  the  voluntary  actor  is  drawn 
from  before ;  but  then  we  should  be  reminded  that  the  idea 
of  the  end  at  which  his  action  is  aimed  is  a  fact  of  present 
experience,  that  we  cannot  really  experience  the  future, 
which  by  its  very  nature  lies  wholly  beyond  experience; 


VOLUNTARY   ACTION  195 

that  one  is  actually  moving  forward  under  the  guidance  of 
an  idea  which  is  a  part  of  present  experience  and  fashioned 
out  of  past  experience.  This  is  all  true ;  and  yet  the  specific 
quality  of  this  imaged  end  or  goal  of  action  is  that  it  is  felt 
as  somehow  projected  forward;  it  is  a  sort  of  blazed  path- 
way into  the  chaotic  and  formless  future.  It  may  be  fash- 
ioned out  of  the  elements  of  past  experience,  but  somehow 
there  has  been  wrought  into  its  texture  a  certain  quality  of 
futureness,  so  to  speak,  so  that  in  following  it  one  cannot 
divest  himself  of  the  consciousness  that  he  is  being  at- 
tracted rather  than  pushed  forward.  The  head-light  may 
be  generated  by  electric  currents  coursing  the  wires  which 
lie  back  of  the  engine,  but  its  beams  illuminate  the  track 
ahead  and  not  behind. 

An  important  distinction  between  voluntary  actions 
should  here  be  noticed.  Every  act  which  involves  choice 
between  alternatives  and  is  motived  by  an  end  is  voluntary ; 
but  acts  which  have  reference  to  more  distant  and  more 
general  ends  have  the  voluntary  character  in  a  higher  de- 
gree than  those  which  have  reference  to  specific  ends  nearer 
at  hand.  A  youth  deliberates  as  to  whether  he  will  go 
swimming  or  attend  a  ball  game,  and  decides  in  favour  of 
the  latter.  His  act  has  the  voluntary  character.  At  an- 
other time  he  wrestles  with  the  question,  which  of  two  col- 
leges offering  different  advantages  he  will  attend,  and  this 
is  only  a  particular  phase  of  the  larger  problem  of  his  life- 
work  —  whether  he  will  be  a  lawyer  or  a  minister ;  and  he 
decides  with  reference  to  that.  This  act  has  the  volitional 
quality  in  a  higher  degree.  Again,  he  faces  the  still  larger 
question  of  the  general  meaning  of  life  —  what  character 
his  life  as  a  whole  shall  bear,  whether  it  shall  be  devoted 
to  some  small  private  end  such  as  the  gaining  of  money,  or 
to  some  large  and  generous  purpose  such  as  the  advance- 
ment of  the  well-being  of  his  fellow-men.  When  he  has 
made  up  his  mind  as  to  this  fundamental  question  he  deter- 
mines the  specific  issues  as  they  arise  according  to  their 
relation  to  this  general  scheme  of  life.  Such  conduct  has 


196  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

the  voluntary  character  in  a  yet  higher  degree.  In  the 
three  successive  situations  his  action  calls  into  play  the 
personality  in  a  larger  and  more  intensive  way  —  expresses 
larger  measures  of  self-determination.  The  more  remote 
and  general  an  end,  the  attainment  of  which  involves  the 
use  of  a  longer  series  of  means  and  a  more  persistent  mental 
attitude,  the  more  distinctive  and  pronounced  is  the  volun- 
tary character  of  the  action  or  series  of  actions  leading  up 
to  it ;  because  they  are  the  expression  of  a  personality  more 
highly  organized  and  unified,  and  acting  as  a  whole.  As  the 
personality  becomes  more  highly  developed,  organized  into  a 
unity  around  some  central  and  dominating  purpose,  it  moves 
upward  further  from  the  impulsive,  instinct-controlled 
level  of  life  towards  the  level  of  thoroughly  rational  activity. 
The  instincts  remain  in  operation ;  but  their  activities  are 
correlated  within  a  great  intelligent  plan,  harnessed  like 
mettlesome  steeds  to  the  chosen  task  of  life  and  directed  by 
a  masterful  purpose. 

It  is  not  the  purpose  of  this  chapter  to  attempt  an  answer 
to  that  question  which  has  been  mooted  since  man  began  to 
reflect  upon  the  problem  of  his  own  life  —  is  the  will  free  ? 
But  to  pass  on  without  a  definite  statement  as  to  this  matter 
would  seem  evasive.  The  trend  of  psychological  thinking 
is  toward  the  affirmation  of  a  limited  and  conditioned  free- 
dom. The  activity  of  the  present  can  never  be  wholly  un- 
related to  the  activity  of  the  past.  In  a  very  real  sense  our 
ability  to  act  now  is  conditioned  by  what  we  and  our  ances- 
tors have  done  before;  in  fact,  is  conditioned  by  the  whole 
past  activity  of  the  universe  as  it  is  registered  in  the  cir- 
cumstances which  now  environ  us.  But  this  is  far  from 
implying  that  the  universe,  including  each  individual  life,  is 
a  closed  mechanical  system  and  that  every  thought  of  the 
mind,  every  feeling  of  the  heart,  every  choice  of  the  will, 
finds  its  explanation  in  the  law  of  the  transformation  of 
energy.  We  do  not  know,  to  begin  with,  that  what  is  called 
mechanical  energy  —  the  real  nature  of  which  nobody  un- 
derstands—  is  a  fixed  quantity.  It  is  assumed  to  be  and 


VOLUNTARY   ACTION  197 

our  limited  experience  seems  to  confirm  the  assumption ;  but 
our  experience  is  very  limited  to  bear  so  important  and  uni- 
versal a  generalization.  But  granted  that  it  is  so ;  that  fact 
would  not  be  inconsistent  with  a  real  determination  of  the 
direction  of  physical  energy  by  the  mind.  It  is  only  neces- 
sary to  assume  —  what  seems  to  be  an  obvious  fact  of  ex- 
perience—  that  psychical  energy  is  distinct  from  physical 
energy.  Recurring  to  what  was  said  on  a  foregoing  page 
as  to  the  likeness  of  the  cortex  to  a  complicated  switch- 
board, it  is  obvious  that  the  nervous  energy  released  by 
the  stimulation  of  an  afferent  nerve  may  be  switched  on  to 
any  one  of  a  multitude  of  efferent  tracks.  Now,  why  may 
we  not  suppose  this  to  be  done  by  a  distinct  psychical  entity, 
called  the  mind,  without  any  increase  or  diminution  of  the 
nervous  energy?  Whether  the  motor  discharge  takes  place 
wholly  through  one  group  of  muscles,  or  is  directed  partly 
upon  a  definite  group  of  muscles  and  partly  translated  into 
general  organic  tension,  or  is  converted  wholly  into  emo- 
tional disturbance,  it  would  be  exactly  equal  to  the  energy- 
transmitted  to  the  cortex  by  the  afferent  nerve,  the  course  it 
would  take  being  determined  by  the  choosing  mind,  the  will. 
The  brakeman  who  turns  the  switch  which  diverts  a  train  of 
cars  on  to  one  of  many  alternate  tracks  neither  adds  to  nor 
subtracts  from  the  mechanical  momentum  of  the  train. 

But  it  may  be  contended  that  the  act  of  turning  the  ner- 
vous energy  into  one  motor  path  rather  than  another  is 
work  and  involves  the  expenditure  of  energy ;  and  it  may  be 
asked,  what,  then,  is  this  energy  which  controls  and  directs 
the  expenditure  of  the  physical  energy,  and  whence  comes 
it?  Manifestly  it  must  be  either  a  form  of  mechanical 
energy  differentiated  for  this  function,  or  a  wholly  different 
and  peculiar  kind  of  energy.  The  former  alternative  is 
adopted  by  the  materialist;  the  latter  by  the  believer  in 
spiritual  realities.  But  the  materialistic  assumption  is 
wholly  gratuitous.  Experimental  Psychology  has  not  yet 
been  able  to  show  an  exact  equation  between  the  energy  of 
the  stimulus  and  that  of  the  motor  response,  much  less  to 


198  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

demonstrate  that  the  whole  process  takes  place  without  the 
intervention  of  an  immaterial  entity  to  determine  the  charac- 
ter of  the  response.  So  long  as  this  is  the  case  it  is  pre- 
sumptuous to  ask  that  we  discard  the  testimony  of  our 
consciousness  in  favour  of  a  theory  which  has  no  apparent 
advantage  as  an  explanation  and  no  demonstrable  basis  in 
fact. 

This  leads  me  to  ask,  why  be  so  jealous  of  any  hypothesis 
that  squints  in  the  direction  of  independent  psychical  caus- 
ation? The  true  answer  to  this  goes  to  the  heart  of  the 
strenuous  objection  now  offered  to  the  theory  of  freedom 
by  a  certain  group  of  scientific  men.  Because,  on  the 
hypothesis  of  freedom,  it  is  thought  to  be  impossible  to  give 
a  scientific  explanation  of  human  life.  To  say  that  the 
existence  of  real  freedom  renders  a  science  of  human  nature 
impossible  and  to  conclude,  therefore,  against  the  existence 
of  freedom  is  manifestly  to  beg  the  whole  question.  In 
the  first  place,  there  can  never  be  a  science  of  human  action 
based  upon  a  pre- judgment  of  this  fundamental  question  to 
begin  with;  for  this  is  a  renunciation  of  the  scientific  atti- 
tude at  the  start,  and  a  science,  in  the  true  sense  of  the 
word,  can  never  be  built  up  by  that  method.  In  the  second 
place,  the  fact  of  rational  freedom,  i.e.,  the  existence  of  a 
real  psychical  cause  which  is  not  included  in  a  chain  of 
inevitable  sequences,  does  not  necessarily  imply  that  its 
action  will  be  capricious,  inconsequential,  incalculable.  It 
is  surely  conceivable  that  the  decisions  of  a  rational  mind, 
although  uncaused  by  antecedent  events,  should  neverthe- 
less be  orderly  and  regular,  explicable  and  calculable,  if  all 
the  conditions  in  view  of  which  they  were  rendered  were 
known.  Is  it  absurd  to  suppose  that  the  actions  of  a  mind 
that  was  free  and  therefore  rationally  guided  would  be 
rationally  explicable?  May  there  not  be  order  without 
necessity  ? 

Indeed,  it  is  fair  to  ask  whether  necessity  is  not  an  illu- 
sion, rather  than  freedom.  May  not  the  attribution  of 
necessity  to  the  sequences  which  we  observe  in  the  material 


VOLUNTARY   ACTION  199 

world  be  best  accounted  for  by  the  limitations  of  the  observ- 
ing mind  and  the  imperfection  of  the  observation?  Maybe 
it  is  because  we  observe  these  from  the  outside  and  cannot 
observe  them  from  within  that  we  read  mechanical  neces- 
sity into  them.  Certainly  so  far  as  we  know,  every  phe- 
nomenon of  the  world  which  we  call  material  may  be  in 
reality  a  determination  of  a  free  will.  Perhaps  what  ap- 
pears to  us,  looking  on  from  without,  to  be  a  necessary 
event  resulting  from  a  mechanical  cauSe  would,  if  we  could 
interpret  the  process  from  the  inside,  appear  in  its  true 
character  as  a  psychical  determination  motived  by  a  "  be- 
cause." At  bottom  it  is  a  question  not  of  regularity  or 
order,  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  irregularity  and  chaos,  on  the 
other;  but  of  the  nature  of  the  nexus  between  two  succes- 
sive phenomena.  Why  does  this  situation  follow  that 
which  regularly  precedes  it?  Mechanical  necessity,  says 
the  materialistic  determinist.  And  yet  he  can  hardly  make 
quite  clear  what  he  means  by  the  phrase.  An  intelligible 
universe  is  not  necessarily  a  universe  of  necessity.  The 
affirmation  of  a  universe  of  mechanical  necessity  is  a 
form  of  pure  metaphysical  dogmatism  which  has  its  origin 
in  devotion  to  physical  science,  coupled  with  shallow  think- 
ing. All  that  is  necessary  to  render  a  science  of  life  pos- 
sible is  that  we  should  be  able  to  correlate  its  phenomena 
according  to  some  definite  principle ;  but  that  principle  need 
not  be  mechanical  necessity;  it  may  be  free  rationality.  It 
is  a  fact  of  the  utmost  significance  that  in  the  only  case  in 
which  it  is  possible  for  us  to  study  the  process  of  change 
from  within,  freedom  is  given  as  a  primary  datum  of  expe- 
rience;  while  in  the  case  in  which  we  study  phenomena 
wholly  from  without,  we  have  an  almost  irresistible 
tendency  to  read  mechanism  and  necessity  into  them.  At 
one  extreme  of  experience  lie  our  self-conscious  activities; 
at  the  other,  the  observed  processes  of  the  material  world. 
Midway  between  are  our  observations  of  the  actions  of 
other  persons.  In  the  first  we  can  hardly  convince  our- 
selves, except  in  theory,  that  we  are  not  free ;  in  the  second, 


2OO  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

it  is  even  more  difficult  to  convince  ourselves  that  there  is 
any  freedom ;  in  the  third  we  attribute  freedom  by  what  I 
shall  venture  to  call  instinctive  inference,  by  reading  our 
own  consciousness  of  freedom  into  the  similar  actions  of 
others,  unless  we  assume  an  immediate,  intuitive  knowledge 
of  other  minds.  In  other  words,  the  further  removed  from 
our  immediate  cognition  the  inner  principle  or  cause  of 
change  is,  the  more  it  assumes  the  appearance  of  mechanical 
necessity. 

It  would  seem  that  the  obvious  fact  just  stated  would 
excite  suspicion  of  the  correctness  of  our  interpretation  of 
the  changes  in  the  external  world,  of  which  we  have  only 
an  external,  mediate  and  remote  knowledge  at  best;  rather 
than  weaken  our  confidence  in  the  testimony  of  our  con- 
sciousness as  to  those  changes  of  which  we  have  an  internal 
and  immediate  knowledge.  To  read  into  the  changes  we 
observe  in  external  objects  a  necessity  which  certainly  may 
be  only  an  appearance  due  to  the  limitation  of  our  knowl- 
edge, and  then  in  defiance  of  the  persistent  witness  of  our 
own  consciousness  to  cast  the  shadow  of  that  necessity  back 
upon  our  subjective  experiences,  of  which  we  do  have  first- 
hand knowledge,  is  a  procedure  which  cannot  be  justified  in 
reason.  We  simply  cannot  divest  ourselves  of  the  con- 
sciousness that  when  we  choose  one  of  two  or  more  alterna- 
tives we  are  free  and  might  have  chosen  otherwise.  It  is 
easy,  of  course,  to  say  that  this  consciousness  is  an  illusion 
due  to  the  fact  that  we  are  ignorant  of  all  the  nervous 
processes  involved ;  but  it  is  far  from  convincing.  The  fact 
is  that  our  ignorance  of  mechanical  process  and  of  the 
nature  of  that  which  we  call  mechanical  energy  is  very  much 
greater,  and  our  notion  of  it  is  much  more  likely  to  be  mis- 
taken. The  science  of  natural  processes,  instead  of  present- 
ing facts  which  authorize  this  discrediting  of  common  sense, 
points  clearly  towards  the  confirmation  of  its  testimony; 
and  philosophy  throws  the  weight  of  its  most  serious  consid- 
erations in  the  same  side  of  the  scale.  We  are  justified  in 
affirming  confidently  that  the  ethical  life  has  a  real  founda- 


VOLUNTARY   ACTION  2OI 

tion  in  the  freedom  of  the  human  personality  and  that  our 
freedom  may  be  both  intensively  and  extensively  developed 
to  greater  potentiality. 

It  is  important  for  those  who  seek  to  persuade  men  to 
action  to  acquire  as  definite  a  conception  as  possible  of  the 
relation  of  emotion  to  voluntary  action.  If  we  recall  the 
conditions  which  cover  the  origin  and  intensity  of  feeling, 
we  shall  realize  that  it  must  play  an  important  role  in  the 
voluntary  process.  The  old  view  was  that  feeling  gave  rise 
to  action,  was  the  spring  which  set  off  the  voluntary  process. 
Certain  psychologists  have  now  reacted  to  an  almost  dia- 
metrically opposite  view  of  their  relation.  According  to 
these  writers  the  conative  tendency,  i.e.,  the  tendency  to 
action,  is  original  and  primary;  feeling  is  a  resultant  and 
has  really  no  important  function  in  the  origination  or  con- 
trol of  action.  It  is  simply  the  tone  of  the  organic  experi- 
ence, an  accompaniment,  and,  while  it  is  important  in  the 
valuation  of  the  experience,  is  no  more  the  impelling  cause 
or  occasion  of  action  than  the  shadow  of  a  walking  man  is 
the  cause  or  spring  of  his  movement. 

The  truth  seems  to  lie  midway  between  these  extreme 
views.  We  may  grant  that  the  feeling  does  not  first  come 
into  existence  and  then  precipitate  action  or  impel  the  or- 
ganism to  move.  Action  may  have  its  ultimate  genesis  in 
the  nature  of  the  organism  as  a  constitutional  tendency  to 
action.  I  grant  that  the  tendency  to  act  is  the  essential 
nature  of  an  organism  and  that  the  stimuli  of  the  environ- 
ment only  evoke  or  liberate  or  "  set  off  "  this  tendency.  But 
every  stimulation  of  the  organism,  certainly  every  one  that 
is  registered  in  consciousness,  evokes  a  two-fold  response  — 
one  physical,  the  other  psychical ;  one  a  nervous  excitation 
which  tends  to  issue  in  a  muscular  contraction,  the  other  a 
state  of  consciousness.  Again,  the  state  of  consciousness 
which  thus  arises  also  has  two  aspects,  a  double  "  intention  " 
—  one  objective,  the  other  subjective.  That  is,  the  con- 
sciousness will  focalize  upon  an  object,  whether  it  be  a  thing 
of  sense  or  an  idea ;  and  at  the  same  time  it  develops  an  in- 


202  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

ward,  subjective  reference.  There  is  a  realization  of  the 
subject  which  stands  over  against  that  object.  Every  con- 
scious state,  certainly  every  ordinary  one,  has  this  polarity, 
object-subject ;  though  conditions  may  render  either  the  sub- 
ject or  the  object  more  prominent  at  the  moment.  Further- 
more, the  meaning  of  the  pbject  for  the  subject  is  always  a 
phase  of  this  consciousness,  very  prominent  or  very  incon- 
spicuous as  the  case  may  be.  Now,  when  consciousness 
assumes  this  polar  form  of  the  object-subject  relation  the 
function  is  cognitive.  When  it  appreciates  the  meaning  of 
the  object  for  the  subject  the  function  is  affective  —  it  is 
feeling.  Simultaneously  with  the  development  of  this  con- 
scious state  the  nervous  excitation  is  passing  or  tending  to 
pass  into  some  form  of  muscular  contraction  —  some  motor 
response  to  the  stimulus  which  has  occasioned  the  whole 
process.  The  feeling  and  the  motor  response  are  thus  con- 
comitant. It  can  hardly  be  said,  therefore,  that  the  feeling 
which  accompanies  a  given  act  is  its  motive,  or  prompts  it. 

But  the  facts  just  stated  do  not  at  all  imply  that  feeling 
has  no  influence  in  determining  voluntary  action.  The  proc- 
ess as  described  does  not  include  certain  factors  which  are 
characteristic  of  voluntary  action.  The  specific  character- 
istics of  volition  are,  first,  the  presence  in  consciousness  of 
two  or  more  ends ;  second,  the  choice  of  one  of  these  imaged 
ends  as  against  the  other,  which  involves  more  or  less  of 
deliberation,  i.e.,  the  holding  in  check  of  the  motor  response 
until  the  meaning  of  the  several  ends  for  the  self  shall  have 
been  considered;  and  third,  the  fiat  or  resolution  to  realize 
the  one  selected,  which  is  followed  by  the  release  of  the 
nervous  energy  in  one  direction  rather  than  another.  Now, 
each  of  these  ideas  of  ends  is  accompanied  by  feeling;  the 
deliberation  consists  in  comparing  the  values  of  these  ends, 
i.e.,  their  affective  meaning  for  the  self ;  the  decision,  there- 
fore, is  in  the  last  analysis  grounded  in  feeling. 

If  there  were  space  to  go  into  further  details  it  could  be 
shown  that  in  other  more  indirect  and  remote  ways  feeling 
plays  a  great  role  in  determining  voluntary  courses  of 


VOLUNTARY   ACTION  2O3 

action.  Moods,  those  indefinite  and  more  enduring  states 
of  feeling,  react  upon  the  whole  course  of  mental  life,  in- 
fluencing the  direction  of  one's  attention,  ideating  processes 
and  valuations,  and  so  enter  as  indirect  but  important  factors 
into  choices  and  decisions.  The  sentiments,  "  those  organ- 
ized systems  of  emotional  tendencies  centred  about  certain 
objects,"  1  constitute  yet  more  powerful  and  pervasive  in- 
fluences which  play  continually  upon  our  voluntary  life  and 
determine  its  courses  more  fundamentally  than  we  realize. 
Of  still  greater  importance  are  a  man's  ideals  —  which  have 
been  inadequately  defined  as  ideas  plus  a  strong  emotional 
colouring.2  Sentiments  and  ideals  have  been  discussed  in 
previous  chapters  and  we  need  not  dwell  longer  upon  them 
here;  but  it  is  important  to  observe  that  as  the  life  rises 
to  higher  levels,  as  action  falls  more  and  more  under  the 
control  of  far-reaching  purposes  and  general  ends  and  as 
the  personality  becomes  more  highly  organized  and  unified, 
the  sentiments  and  ideals  become  more  potential  fac- 
tors. Or  perhaps  the  statement  should  be  reversed.  The 
more  highly  the  sentiments  and  ideals  are  developed  and  the 
more  important  they  become  as  factors  of  one's  mental  life, 
the  more  comprehensive  become  the  purposes  and  the  more 
general  the  ends  which  control  his  action. 

Feeling,  then,  does  not  play  a  dwindling  part  in  the  vol- 
untary life  as  it  develops  to  higher  stages.  A  wise  and  ef- 
fective appeal  to  feeling  is  necessary  if  you  would  secure 
from  men  a  voluntary  response;  and  if  you  are  seeking  to 
bring  those  under  your  influence  to  choose  to  live  for  high 
and  distant  and  universal  ends,  one  of  your  first  and  most 
important  tasks  is  the  development  and  organization  of  their 
emotional  life.  How  this  is  done  is  discussed  elsewhere 
in  some  detail.  Here  we  need  only  call  attention  to  the  ex- 
tensive control  over  the  development  of  character  and  des- 
tiny which  lies  in  the  hands  of  parents,  teachers,  preachers 
and  all  who  in  any  way  work  directly  upon  human  person- 

1  MacDougall,  "  Introduction  to  Social  Psychology,"  p.  122. 

2  Bagley,  "  Educational  Values,"  p.  58. 


2O4  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

ality,  by  reason  of  their  power  to  establish  an  abiding  asso- 
ciation of  certain  feelings  with  certain  objects  and  ideas  and 
thusjto  fix  the  direction  of  those  persistent  courses  of  vol- 
untary action,  which  alone  lead  to  notable  achievement  in 
any  sphere  of  life. 

But  another  principle  of  great  practical  importance  must 
not  be  lost  from  view  if  serious  mistakes  are  to  be  avoided. 
While  the  improvement  of  the  voluntary  life  consists  largely 
in  the  organization  of  feeling-dispositions  around  certain 
real  or  ideal  objects,  and  involves,  therefore,  frequent  ap- 
peals to  the  appropriate  feelings  in  connection  with  these 
objects,  the  excitation  of  excessive  feeling  in  relation  to  any 
object  whatsoever  never  secures  voluntary  action  at  all. 
Again  and  again  should  it  be  repeated  that,  beyond  a  certain 
intensity,  emotion  —  no  matter  what  its  character  —  renders 
deliberation  and  choice  impossible;  the  whole  psycho-physi- 
cal organism  is  thrown  into  violent  commotion  or  abnormal 
tension;  the  intellectual  processes  are  disturbed  or  totally 
hindered ;  and  the  action  which  results  from  such  powerful 
stimulation  may  be  a  correct  index  of  the  reflex  or  in- 
stinctive organization,  but  does  not  in  any  true  sense  repre- 
sent the  personality.  In  such  emotional  states  we  speak  of 
a  man  being  "  swept  off  his  feet,"  or  "  playing  the  fool,"  or 
"  acting  silly ;"  or  we  may  say  he  is  "  beside  himself,"  "  he  is 
not  accountable  for  what  he  says,"  "  he  is  crazy  "  or  "  daft." 
In  more  scientific  phrase,  his  personality  is  for  the  time 
being  disorganized.  From  the  point  of  view  of  volition  his 
actions  are  chaotic  and  capricious;  they  are  not  rationally 
controlled;  they  are  not  co-ordinated  toward  intelligently 
selected  ends ;  they  are  non-personal  and  would  be  of  little 
significance  if  they  did  not  so  often  result  in  positive  injury 
to  the  moral  and  spiritual  constitution.  Such  experiences 
do  not  normally  tend  toward  the  establishment  of  that  bal- 
ance of  the  emotional  and  intellectual  processes  which  is  so 
marked  a  characteristic  of  the  highest  and  noblest  personal- 
ities. They  tend  rather  to  disturb  that  balance,  to  bring  the 
organism  under  the  domination  of  the  reflexive  and  in- 


VOLUNTARY   ACTION  2O5 

stinctive  controls  of  conduct,  to  reduce  to  smaller  propor- 
tions the  rational  control  and  so  to  restrict  within  narrower 
limits  the  range  and  freedom  of  voluntary  action,  and  this 
without  any  compensation  in  the  enrichment  of  the  feel- 
ings. 

Such  an  emotional  disturbance  may  serve  a  good  purpose 
in  exceptional  conditions.  Doubtless  electrical  storms,  hur- 
ricanes and  tornadoes,  floods  and  earthquakes,  all  have  nec- 
essary functions  in  the  economy  of  nature ;  but  we  neverthe- 
less count  ourselves  fortunate  when  such  convulsions  and 
upheavals  are  rare.  They  indicate  that  the  equilibrium  of 
cosmic  forces  has  been  lost  and  can  be  regained  only  by 
violent  readjustments,  which  imperil  many  interests;  and 
however  necessary  they  may  be,  leave  behind  them  a  trail  of 
wreckage  and  death.  Sometimes  abnormal  processses  are 
required  to  correct  abnormal  conditions,  though  it  is  by  no 
means  always  so :  and  when  they  are,  the  sooner  they  can  be 
dispensed  with  the  better.  So  it  is  with  storms  of  emotional 
excitement. 

The  public  speaker,  and  especially  the  preacher,  should  be 
a  man  of  strong  ivill.  What  does  that  expression  mean? 
Often  it  means  in  common  speech  a  man  of  powerful  im- 
pulses ;  but  while  a  man  of  powerful  impulses  acts  vigor- 
ously, he  may  not  have  a  strong  will.  A  strong  will  is  one 
in  which  powerful  impulses  are  subject  to  an  equally  power- 
ful self-control.  The  impulsive  and  inhibitive  factors  of 
personality  should  balance  one  another;  but  both  must  be 
strong  to  make  a  strong  will.  The  man  of  energetic  im- 
pulses and  weak  self-control  is  "  wilful,"  which  means  that 
he  is  unreasonable,  that  he  is  disproportionately  feeble  in  the 
intellectual  and  directive  functions  of  his  personality. 
Sometimes  we  call  him  "  head-strong " —  an  expression 
which  is  singularly  infelicitous,  because  his  strength  is  em- 
phatically not  in  his  head.  The  more  accurate,  though  much 
less  elegant,  characterization  of  him  is  "  bull-headed."  But 
a  man's  impulsive  nature  can  hardly  be  too  energetic  if  the 
inhibitive  functions  are  in  due  proportion.  The  greatest 


206  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

public  speakers  have  been  notable  in  this  respect.  Their 
powerful  impulses  enable  them  to  stir  an  audience ;  but  their 
equally  powerful  self-restraint,  while  making  the  impression 
of  reserved  force,  checks  unhealthy  excesses.  They  make  a 
balanced  and  proportionate  appeal  to  the  emotional  and  in- 
tellectual faculties  of  their  hearers.  They  react  with  great 
energy  upon  their  audiences,  but  they  react  upon  the  whole 
nature  of  those  under  their  influence. 

The  preacher  should  aim  above  all  else  at  eliciting  a  vol- 
untary response  from  those  to  whom  he  appeals.  The 
lawyer  before  a  jury  seeks  a  verdict  that  will  acquit  or  con- 
demn, according  to  his  relation  to  the  prisoner.  He  is  not 
interested  primarily  in  the  mental  processes  by  which  the 
jurors  reach  the  desired  decision.  He  is  interested  in  the 
jury  only  as  an  instrumentality  by  which  an  end  is  to  be 
reached  which  lies  wholly  beyond  them.  Too  often  the  pol- 
itician also  seeks  to  secure  a  response  from  the  people  with- 
out any  concern  as  to  the  character  of  the  mental  processes 
involved.  This  is  the  specific  mark  of  the  demagogue.  Some- 
times the  same  spirit  of  demagogism  invades  the  pulpit  and 
the  minister  seeks  a  response  from  his  congregation  with 
little  solicitude  as  to  the  character  of  the  mental  processes 
by  which  he  secures  "  results."  Visible  results  are  the  end. 
But  he  may  not  be  aware  that  visible  results  secured  by  cer- 
tain methods  may  be  accompanied  by  very  disastrous  in- 
visible results.  The  preacher  is  interested,  and  interested 
primarily,  in  the  character  of  the  psychical  processes  by 
which  he  gets  results,  because  his  "  jury  "  is  not  a  means  to 
an  ulterior  end ;  the  development  of  character  is  his  objective, 
if  he  is  a  true  minister.  If  any  ulterior  motive  sways  him 
he  should  instantly  leave  the  pulpit. 

Popular  applause,  excited  demonstrations,  numerous  pro- 
fessions of  religion  do  not  necessarily  imply  that  men  have 
been  stimulated  to  the  intelligent  consideration  of  great  ethi- 
cal and  religious  issues  and  to  choices  which  have  turned 
their  lives  in  new  directions.  These  visible  results  have 
often  been  accomplished  in  ways  which  hindered  the  char- 


VOLUNTARY  ACTION 

acteristic  processes  of  the  will  and  left  the  personality 
weaker  than  before.  We  may  say  without  exaggeration  that 
in  overt  responses  to  religious  appeals  everything  depends 
upon  the  character  of  the  mental  processes  which  lead  to 
these  responses.  Are  the  responses  intelligent?  Do  they 
represent  the  personality?  To  insist  that  they  be  rational, 
the  outcome  of  deliberation,  personal  in  the  true  meaning  of 
the  word,  is  not  to  reduce  religious  experience  to  a  cold  and 
colourless  intellectual  calculation.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say 
that  to  exclude  feeling  from  religious  experience  is  to  de- 
stroy its  character  as  religious;  but  to  exclude  intelligent 
deliberation  and  choice  is  to  reduce  it  to  a  mere  blind  re- 
action without  ethical  significance.  It  was  characteristic  of 
the  Founder  of  Christianity  that,  while  making  powerful 
appeals  to  the  deep  emotions,  he  refused  to  accept  a  follow- 
ing which  was  not  the  result  of  serious  deliberation  and 
choice.  "  For  which  of  you,  desiring  to  build  a  tower, 
doth  not  sit  down  first  and  count  the  cost,  whether  he  have 
wherewith  to  complete  it?  Lest  haply  when  he  hath  laid  a 
foundation  and  is  not  able  to  finish,  all  that  behold  begin 
to  mock  him,  saying,  '  this  man  began  to  build  and  was  not 
able  to  finish.'  Or  what  king  as  he  goeth  to  encounter  an- 
other king  in  war,  will  not  sit  down  first  and  take  counsel 
whether  he  be  able  with  ten  thousand  to  meet  him  that 
cometh  against  him  with  twenty  thousand  ?  "  1  And  it  is 
certain  that  no  religion  can  ever  be  a  potent  factor  in  the 
promotion  of  the  ethical  life  which  does  not  put  heavy  em- 
phasis just  here.  The  emotion  is  valuable  only  as  it  re- 
sults in  intelligent  decision. 

It  is  in  voluntary  action  that  the  real  man  functions,  and 
the  preaching  that  does  not  secure  this  is  useless  or  worse 
than  useless.  If  the  preacher  is  conscientious,  then  the 
more  intelligent  he  is  the  less  will  he  value  superficial  and 
temporary  emotional  effects,  however  dramatic  and  sensa- 
tional they  may  be.  The  transient  and  meretricious  glory 
in  which  they  envelop  him  will  but  add  to  his  repugnance 

iLuke  14:28-31.     • 


208  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

for  the  pitiable  sham  of  such  false  pulpit  success.  He  will 
desire  to  develop  true  feeling;  but,  with  his  great  Master, 
he  will  prefer  to  check  the  tides  of  an  unintelligent  emotion 
and  drive  home  upon  the  minds  of  his  hearers  the  strenuous 
difficulties  of  the  spiritual  life,  to  the  irrevocable  choice  of 
which  he  is  calling  them.  , 


CHAPTER  X 

SUGGESTION 

A  GENTLEMAN  remarked :  "  The  psychologists  write  learn- 
edly these  days  about  '  suggestion/  as  if  they  had  discovered 
something  new.  I  have  been  making  '  suggestions '  all  my 
life."  The  humorous  words,  not  untinged  with  sarcasm, 
have  exactly  as  much  point  as  if  he  had  said :  "  The  physi- 
ologists write  learnedly  about  digestion,  as  if  they  had  dis- 
covered something  new,  whereas  I  have  been  digesting  food 
all  my  life."  Processes,  of  course,  must  go  on  long  before 
the  science  of  them  grows  up.  There  were  living  organisms 
ages  before  there  was  any  Biology;  vegetation  grew  un- 
counted ages  before  there  was  a  Botany;  men  produced  and 
exchanged  goods  for  many  centuries  before  a  science  of 
Economics  was  dreamed  of.  Critical  reflection  upon  the  on- 
goings of  nature  and  life  arose  after  the  world  was  old,  and 
there  are  many  regions  yet  into  which  the  search-light  of 
methodical  observation  has  not  been  flashed.  The  scien- 
tific study  of  suggestion  as  a  distinct  psychical  process  is 
comparatively  recent.  It  is  probable  that  the  study  of 
hypnosis  and  other  kindred  abnormal  phenomena,  so  power- 
fully attractive  to  the  scientific  attention,  led  to  the  analysis 
of  the  normal  process  of  suggestion,  just  as  in  many  other 
instances  attention  to  the  exceptional  has  awakened  interest 
in  the  far  more  important  facts  which,  because  of  their 
familiarity,  escaped  observation. 

The  word  "  suggestion  "  as  used  in  popular  speech  is  ex- 
tremely indefinite  in  meaning.  In  popular  parlance,  "  to 
suggest "  is  about  the  same  as  "  to  indicate,"  "  to  point  out," 
"  to  call  attention  to."  In  this  vague  meaning  suggestion  is 
simply  the  bringing  to  the  mind  a  presentation  which  in 
some  way  influences  or  modifies  the  current  of  thought; 

209 


2IO  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

and  so  many  definitions  have  been  given  it  by  psychologists 
that  it  has  little  more  precision  in  scientific  than  in  popular 
usage.  However,  if  all  the  varying  scientific  uses  of  the 
term  be  carefully  considered,  it  becomes  evident  that  it  points 
to  a  fairly  definite  and  highly  important  class  of  mental  phe- 
nomena. The  essential  characteristic  of  the  process  in- 
dicated is  that  there  is  brought  before  the  mind  a  presenta- 
tion under  such  conditions  as  tend  to  secure  its  uncritical 
acceptance.  Frequently  it  is  an  idea  imparted  by  one  per- 
son to  another,  and  this  is  the  kind  of  suggestion  in  which 
we  are  particularly  interested  in  this  discussion.  Or  it  may 
be  an  idea  which  the  mind  voluntarily  calls  up  and  main- 
tains in  the  focus  of  attention  until  it  dominates  conscious- 
ness, in  which  case  the  process  is  known  as  auto-suggestion. 
But  however  the  presentation  is  made,  the  point  is  that  it  is 
made  under  conditions  which  tend  to  secure  its  uncritical 
acceptance,  to  give  it  exclusive  right  of  way  in  the  mind. 

Before  going  further  we  should  draw  the  important  dis- 
tinction between  normal  and  abnormal  suggestion.  By 
normal  suggestion  is  meant  the  influencing  of  people  through 
securing  their  uncritical  acceptance  of  ideas  under  ordi- 
nary conditions  and  by  ordinary  means.  Abnormal  sugges- 
tion is  that  which  is  used  under  the  extraordinary  condi- 
tions of  hysteria  or  hypnosis.  Hysteria  is  an  abnormal  nerv- 
ous condition  very  favourable  to  the  uncritical  acceptance  of 
ideas ;  and  hypnosis  is  a  state  of  abnormal  suggestibility  in- 
duced by  the  use  of  certain  kinds  of  suggestion.  Just  what 
that  state  is  nobody  really  knows.  In  some  respects  it 
strikingly  resembles  ordinary  sleep,  and  in  other  respects 
it  is  as  strikingly  dissimilar.  The  physiological  conditions 
of  hypnotism  are  very  obscure,  and  about  all  that  can  be  said 
with  certainty  as  to  the  psychological  conditions  is  that  the 
self-direction  of  the  subject  is  reduced  to  a  very  low  degree; 
and  when  the  trance  is  deepest,  almost  annihilated,  though 
not  quite.  The  control  is  transferred  to  another  person,  the 
operator.  It  is  difficult  to  say  whether  the  mob-state  should 
be  characterized  as  normal  or  abnormal,  according  to  this 


SUGGESTION  211 

classification ;  but  it  is  unimportant,  especially  as  that  class 
of  phenomena  will  receive  special  treatment  in  another 
chapter.  Obviously,  whatever  exceptional  and  mysterious 
features  may  differentiate  these  abnormal  states  and  proc- 
esses from  those  of  ordinary  life,  the  suggestion  which  is 
practised  in  them  falls  within  our  general  definition  —  the 
bringing  of  presentations  before  the  mind  in  such  a  way  as 
to  secure  their  uncritical  acceptance.1 

But  while  hypnotic  suggestion  falls  within  this  general 
definition,  it  is  nevertheless  differentiated  markedly  from  all 
other  forms.  Usually  the  subject  must  co-operate  with  the 
operator  in  the  induction  of  the  hypnotic  state.  He  must  fix 
his  attention  in  a  given  direction  or  upon  a  given  object,  thus 
narrowing  the  range  of  his  consciousness,  and  passively 
submit  himself  to  the  suggestive  power  of  the  hypnotist. 
Such  co-operation  seems  to  be  generally  necessary,  except 
when  the  subject  has  been  frequently  hypnotized  by  the  same 
operator.  Repetition  brings  him  more  and  more  under  the 
operator's  influence,  and  his  co-operation  becomes  less  and 
less  necessary,  i.e.,  he  graduallly  loses  his  power  to  resist  the 
influence  of  the  one  who  has  thus  become  his  hypnotic  mas- 
ter. Now  and  then  there  may  be  a  case  in  which  a  person 
is  at  the  beginning  unable  to  resist  a  particular  operator ;  and 
in  these  rare  instances,  of  course,  the  statement  does  not 
hold  good  that  the  consent  and  co-operation  of  the  subject 
is  necessary.  But  as  a  general  rule  it  is  true.2  This  power 
to  fix  the  attention  upon  a  certain  object  implies,  of  course, 
an  important  measure  of  will  power,  a  mental  organiza- 
tion of  a  fair  measure  of  strength  and  stability.  The  im- 
pression sometimes  prevails  that  weak-minded  persons  can 
with  ease,  while  the  strong-minded  can  only  with  difficulty, 
be  hypnotized.  This  is  not  at  all  the  case.  Moll  says: 
!<  The  ability  to  give  the  thoughts  a  certain  prescribed  direc- 
tion is  partly  natural  capacity,  partly  a  matter  of  habit, 
and  often  an  affair  of  will.  Those,  on  the  contrary,  who  can 
by  no  possibility  fix  their  attention,  who  suffer  from  con- 

1  Moll's  "  Hypnotism,"  p.  55.          2  Ibid.,  p.  55. 


212  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

tinued  absence  of  mind,  can  hardly  be  hypnotized  at  all.  It 
is  especially  among  the  nervous  that  a  strikingly  large  num- 
ber of  this  class  are  to  be  found,  who  cannot  hold  fast  to  a 
thought,  in  whom  a  perpetual  wandering  of  the  mind  pre- 
dominates. The  disposition  to  hypnosis  is  also  not  espe- 
cially common  among  those  persons  who  are  otherwise  very 
impressible.  It  is  well  known  that  there  are  some  who  can 
be  easily  influenced  in  life,  who  believe  all  they  are  told, 
upon  whom  the  most  unimportant  trifles  make  an  impres- 
sion, nevertheless,  when  an  effort  is  made  to  hypnotize  them, 
they  offer  a  lively  resistance,  and  the  typical  symptoms  of 
hypnosis  cannot  be  induced  in  them,"1  It  seems  then,  as 
Moll  intimates,  that  persons  of  weak  mental  organization  are 
easily  influenced  by  normal  suggestion,  by  reason  of  the 
very  conditions  that  render  them  intractible  to  the  abnormal 
process.  The  "  lively  resistance  "  to  the  abnormal  process 
offered  by  those  who  are  so  easily  influenced  in  ordinary  ex- 
perience is  probably  to  be  explained  as  a  reaction  of  the  or- 
ganism under  the  emotion  of  fear  rather  than  as  intelligent, 
self-controlled  opposition.  But  more  anon  as  to  the  condi- 
tions of  normal  suggestibility. 

It  is  important  that  we  should  clearly  grasp  the  funda- 
mental psychological  principles  which  underlie  the  gen- 
eral phenomena  of  suggestibility.  We  have  previously  em- 
phasized the  truth  that  the  function  of  thinking  is  to  guide 
the  organism  in  its  adjustment  to  the  environment.  The 
image  of  an  act  is,  it  is  said,  the  incipiency  of  the  act  —  it  is 
accompanied  by  the  innervation  of  the  motor  tracts  which 
are  brought  into  play  in  the  performance  of  the  act.  There 
is  a  tendency  for  those  muscles  to  contract  whose  contrac- 
tions are  parts  of  the  act  when  performed.  When  one 
thinks  a  word  there  is  an  innervation  of  the  muscles  of  the 
vocal  organs  used  in  its  pronunciation.  When  one  thinks 
of  walking,  especially  if  the  idea  is  vivid,  there  starts  a 
nerve  current  to  the  muscles  employed  in  that  process.  "  In 
thinking  of  a  visual  object,  e.g.,  of  an  illuminated  sign,  there 

1  Ibid.,  p.  51. 


SUGGESTION  213 

are  movements  of  accommodation  and  convergence  of  the 
eyes,  if  the  person  is  of  the  visual  type.  In  thinking  of  the 
sound  of  an  orchestra  there  are  changes  in  the  tension  of  the 
muscles  of  the  tympanum  of  the  ear,  or  in  the  neck 
muscles,"  l  and  so  on.  It  follows  therefore  that  every  idea 
of  an  act  will  result  in  the  action,  unless  hindered  by  a  com- 
peting idea,  or  ideas;  provided,  of  course,  there  is  no  sub- 
jective or  objective  physical  impediment  that  prevents  the 
actual  performance  of  it,  no  paralysis  of  the  muscles  or  no 
material  obstruction  to  the  movement.  And  if  the  act  be 
thus  rendered  impossible  of  execution,  there  will  neverthe- 
less be  a  tendency  to  perform  it.  Clearly,  then,  when  the 
idea  of  an  action  is  imparted  to  a  person  under  such  condi- 
tions that  no  contrary  idea  is  brought  into  consciousness 
with  it,  while  the  normal  conditions  of  movement  are  pres- 
ent, the  action  will  inevitably  be  performed.  This  general 
psychological  truth  has  been  experimentally  confirmed  times 
without  number.  It  is  a  theoretical  truism  and  an  experi- 
mental commonplace.  The  idea  imparted  may,  how- 
ever, not  be  an  idea  of  an  action,  and  may  not  directly 
refer  to  action  at  all.  But  when  presented,  will  be  ac- 
cepted by  the  mind  as  true,  i.e.,  as  a  reliable  basis  for  pos- 
sible action,  unless  there  is  present  in  consciousness 
some  contrary  or  inconsistent  idea.  This  proposition 
has  been  so  much  insisted  upon  in  a  preceding  chap- 
ter that  it  is  unnecessary  to  elaborate  it  here.  We  need 
only  to  repeat  that  the  primary  mental  function  is  belief, 
the  acceptance  of  a  presentation  as  true,  and  when  a  pres- 
entation is  rejected  as  false  it  is  only  because  there  is  some- 
thing in  the  mental  life  as  already  organized  which  conflicts 
with  it  and  prevails  against  it.  In  order,  therefore,  to  con- 
trol the  belief  of  a  person  it  is  only  necessary  to  introduce 
an  idea  into  his  mind  in  such  a  way  as  to  prevent  any 
opposing  idea  or  contrary  feeling  from  coming  into  his  con- 
sciousness with  it;  or  if  any  opposing  mental  content  should 
make  its  appearance,  to  effect  its  suppression. 

1  Dunlap,  "  A  System  of  Psychology,"  p.  158. 


214  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

In  addition  to  these  elementary  psychological  principles, 
there  are  two  other  truths  that  must  be  considered  in  order 
to  understand  the  phenomena  of  normal  suggestibility. 
The  first  is  that  every  organism  shows  some  degree  of  resist- 
ance to  interference  with  its  autonomy.  One  of  the  essen- 
tial characteristics  of  an  organism  is  that  it  has  some  degree 
of  spontaneity,  some  capacity  for  development  from  within, 
some  measure  of  autonomy.  If  it  were  to  lose  its  autonomy 
altogether,  it  would  cease  to  be  an  organism.  Resistance  to 
interference  with  its  autonomy  is  a  manifestation  of  the  in- 
stinct of  self-preservation.  The  second  truth  is  that  the 
higher  the  organism  stands  in  the  scale  of  development,  i.e., 
the  more  complex  and  the  more  highly  integrated  are  its 
functions,  the  more  jealous  will  it  be  of  its  autonomy,  the 
more  highly  will  it  appreciate  its  capacity  for  development 
from  within,  the  more  stoutly  will  it  resist  any  encroach- 
ment upon  its  independent  life.  In  other  words,  the  more 
of  an  organism  it  is,  the  more  will  it  value  its  fundamental 
character  as  an  organism,  the  more  vigorously  will  it  main- 
tain and  assert  this  character.  The  higher  the  type  of  or- 
ganism, indeed,  the  more  dynamic  will  it  be ;  not  only  will 
its  resistance  to  domination  by  environing  agencies  be  greater, 
but  its  disposition  to  exert  a  positive,  controlling,  shaping  in- 
fluence upon  its  environment  will  increase.  According  to 
this  principle  personalities  may  be  classified  as  passive,  stub- 
born (resistant),  and  aggressive.  Perhaps  a  better  designa- 
tion of  the  second  and  third  types  would  be  "  the  contrary  " 
and  "the  creative."  Of  course,  none  are  absolutely  passive 
—  to  be  so  would  be  ipso  facto  the  negation  of  personality. 
Likewise  none  are  absolutely  stubborn  or  resistant;  and 
none  are  absolutely  aggressive.  The  passive  have,  of 
course,  some  sel f -activity ;  the  stubborn  are  in  some  measure 
subject  to  outside  influence  and  exert  some  measure  of  posi- 
tive control  over  others;  the  aggressive  may  also  be  in- 
fluenced to  some  extent  and  are  under  the  necessity  some- 
times of  maintaining  themselves  by  negative  resistance.  But 


SUGGESTION  '215 

relatively  speaking,  these  three  adjectives  describe  three 
very  distinct  types  of  disposition. 

In  the  light  of  what  has  been  said  we  may  formulate 
two  fundamental  laws  of  normal  suggestibility. 

I.  Suggestibility  varies,  other  things  being  equal,  in- 
versely as  the  insistence  of  the  personality  upon  maintaining 
its  autonomy.  The  passive  are  the  most  suggestible  of  the 
three  types.  The  aggressive  have  little  susceptibility  to  this 
kind  of  influence  unless  the  suggestions  given  run  parallel 
with  their  strong  passions  or  settled  purposes ;  and  then  their 
susceptibility  will  depend  upon  the  degree  to  which  their  ra- 
tional powers  have  been  developed.  The  stubborn  or  neg- 
atively resistant  type  seem  wholly  and  abnormally  preoccu- 
pied with  the  desire  to  maintain  their  independence.  They 
are  "  contrary,"  and  this  contrariness  seems  to  arise  out  of 
the  fact  that  with  them  the  normal  tendency  to  differentiate 
themselves  from  others  can  realize  itself  not  through  posi- 
tive and  constructive  action,  but  only  by  setting  themselves  in 
opposition  to  others.  They  have  a  personality  highly 
enough  developed  to  be  jealous  of  its  independence,  but  not 
highly  enough  developed  to  manifest  and  satisfy  self-feeling 
in  creative  action.  They  can  maintain  the  consciousness  of 
personal  autonomy  only  by  jealously  resisting  others.  They 
are  not  easily  susceptible  to  direct  suggestion  because  they 
are  perpetually  on  the  defensive.  As  with  a  besieged  city, 
every  avenue  of  approach  is  guarded  and  every  gate  is 
locked.  They  can  be  taken  only  by  consummate  strategy. 
Suggestions  from  others  arouse  opposition  simply  because 
they  come  from  others.  Being  deficient  in  aggressive,  crea- 
tive energy  themselves,  they  realize  that  they  cannot  follow 
the  suggestions  of  others  without  sinking  into  merely  passive 
echoes  of  their  social  environment.  The  only  way  in  which 
they  can  be  managed  is  through  the  method  of  what  may  be 
called  counter-suggestion  —  a  suggestion  in  one  direction 
may  be  given  them  in  order  to  awaken  their  resistance  and 
cause  them  to  react  in  the  opposite  direction.  To  this  kind 


2l6  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

of  suggestion  they  are,  if  of  low  mental  grade,  quite  sus- 
ceptible. 

2.  Other  things  equal,  normal  suggestibility  varies  in- 
versely as  the  mental  equipment  and  organization.  The 
wider  the  range  of  one's  ideas  and  the  more  thoroughly  in- 
tegrated in  an  intellectual  system  they  are,  the  less  subject 
to  normal  suggestion  will  one  be,  other  conditions  remaining 
the  same.  If  the  store  of  ideas  is  a  rich  and  varied  one,  the 
greater  is  the  likelihood  that  there  will  be  in  the  mental  sys- 
tem something  contrary  to  any  idea  that  may  be  suggested. 
This  is  self-evident.  But  an  equally  important  considera- 
tion is  that  if  the  collection  of  ideas  is  well  organized,  uni- 
fied, or  correlated  into  a  system  there  is  a  greater  probability 
that  any  suggested  idea  will  awaken  and  bring  into  con- 
sciousness any  such  opposing  idea.  This  is  the  great  ad- 
vantage of  mental  organization,  just  as  it  is  the  advantage 
of  organization  in  any  other  realm  of  life.  It  is  well 
known  and  often  remarked  that  a  man  may  have  a  wealth 
of  resources,  but  if  they  are  loosely  organized  they  are  likely 
not  to  be  available  at  the  particular  moment  when  they  are 
most  needed.  A  badly  organized  army,  although  having  a 
large  and  splendid  body  of  men  with  ample  equipment,  may 
be  defeated  by  a  smaller  body  of  less  amply  provisioned 
troops,  if  the  latter  is  greatly  superior  in  organization. 
How  often  does  a  man  exclaim,  after  committing  some  fool- 
ish act,  "  I  ought  to  have  known  better  —  I  did  know  better, 
but  I  was  off  my  guard ;  I  was  caught  napping."  There  was 
in  his  mind  knowledge  which,  if  it  had  been  available  at  the 
proper  moment,  would  have  saved  him  from  the  blunder; 
but  he  "  did  not  think  "  until  it  was  too  late ;  and  the  knowl- 
edge which  ought  to  have  guided  action  only  reflected  its 
vain  and  belated  light  back  upon  the  pitfalls  which  it  should 
have  made  visible  in  advance.  The  ultimate  cause  of  these 
blunders  and  vain  regrets  is  that  the  mental  system  is  lack- 
ing in  adequate  organization,  so  that  a  given  impulse 
does  not  call  into  consciousness  all  of  the  contents  of 
the  mind  which  are  relevant.  From  somebody  or  some 


SUGGESTION 

situation  there  comes  a  "suggestion,"  and,  as  it  does  not 
call  forth  into  the  light  all  the  ideas  which  should  be  brought 
into  relation  with  it,  it  passes  on  unchallenged  into  action. 
Afterwards  these  ideas  come  straggling  in,  led  by  the  string 
of  some  chance  association,  just  as  if  a  detachment  of  troops 
which  had  become  separated  from  the  main  army  and  did 
not  hear  the  roar  of  the  cannon  should  come  stumbling  by 
accident  upon  the  battlefield  after  the  engagement  had  been 
fought  and  lost.  The  physiological  basis  of  this  loose  men- 
tal organization,  we  are  told,  is  the  lack  of  a  sufficient 
number  of  well-established  neural  connections  between  the 
specialized  brain-centres,  so  that  a  stimulation  of  one  is  not 
promptly  communicated  to  all  the  others.  However  that 
may  be,  it  is  certainly  a  fact  that  in  people  of  low  mental 
development  there  is,  on  the  psychological  side,  a  lack  of 
close  correlation  between  the  various  groups  of  ideas;  so 
that  they  are  readily  responsive  to  normal  suggestion, 
though,  on  account  of  their  deficiency  in  the  power  of  in- 
hibition, they  may  not  be  easily  capable  of  the  concentration 
of  attention  which  is  necessary  for  the  induction  of  the 
hypnotic  state.  Their  normal  suggestibility  consists  in  the 
fact  that  an  idea  imparted  to  them  is  likely  not  to  call 
into  consciousness  ideas  that  are  relevant,  and  is  likely, 
therefore,  to  be  uncritically  accepted  and  acted  upon. 

It  is  important  to  note  that  the  manner  in  which  one's 
mental  organization  has  been  built  up  has  much  to  do  with 
his  suggestibility.  We  have  previously  noted  that  a  mental 
system  which  grows  up  unreflectively  —  which  is  non-theo- 
retical in  character  —  will  have  many  gaps  and  inconsist- 
encies in  it.  The  mental  structure  will  be  lacking  in  general 
coherence  and  unity.  On  the  other  hand,  one  whose  mental 
system  is  mainly  theoretical  in  character,  i.e.,  has  not  been 
tested  in  practical  experience,  will  also  be  deficient,  not  in 
unity,  but  in  a  certain  sense  of  reality.  Usually  such  a 
mental  system  will  not  be,  either  in  its  constituent  ele- 
ments or  in  their  connections  with  one  another,  so  vividly 
realized,  so  "  stamped  in,"  as  one  that  has  been  built  up 


2l8  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

through  both  practice  and  reflection.  Reflection  bestows 
upon  it  a  more  systematic  unity;  practical  experience  gives 
actually  stronger  coherency.  Now  if  one's  mental  organiza- 
tion is  the  result  of  both  practical  experience  and  reflection, 
he  will  be  less  suggestible  than  if  it  were  chiefly  the  prod- 
uct of  either  theory  or  unreflective  experience.  His  system 
of  ideas  will  have  greater  solidity  and  persistence,  more 
grip;  will  more  completely  dominate  the  conscious  life  and, 
therefore,  will  have  more  power  to  inhibit  or  expel  contrary 
suggestions. 

It  is  obvious  in  the  light  of  these  "  laws  of  suggestibility  " 
that  all  men  are  in  some  measure  suggestible.  Nobody 
has  a  collection  of  ideas  which  comprehends  all  that  are  rel- 
evant to  all  the  suggestions  that  may  be  offered ;  nobody  has 
a  perfect  organization  of  his  mental  contents ;  nobody,  as  al- 
ready said,  is  absolutely  resistant  or  aggressive  in  relation  to 
other  persons.  Therefore  nobody  is  beyond  the  reach  of 
the  mental  influence  called  normal  suggestion.  But  varia- 
tions among  people  in  this  respect  are  very  great,  and  there 
are  certain  classes  which  are  especially  subject  to  it. 
Children  are  by  far  the  most  important  of  these  classes. 
The  reasons  for  their  extraordinary  suggestibility  are  ap- 
parent. Physiologically,  the  child  is  equipped  with  the 
requisite  biological  automatisms,  a  series  of  well  established 
nervous  reflexes  and  a  number  of  more  complex  nervous  co- 
ordinations, which  appear  to  come  into  action  at  suitable 
stages  in  its  development,  but  which  are  much  less  rigidly 
fixed  than  in  the  young  of  the  lower  animals.  In  addition 
there  is  a  brain  mass  which  is  unorganized  and  is  destined  to 
receive  organization  in  the  individual's  own  experience.  On 
the  mental  side,  there  is,  corresponding  to  this  physical  or- 
ganization, a  large  number  of  sensori-motor  reactions  and 
more  or  less  indefinite  instincts,  which  successively  develop 
as  the  child  grows ;  but  there  is  not  present,  of  course,  any 
system  of  ideas,  for  this  is  waiting  to  be  constituted  in  indi- 
vidual experience.  Now,  the  absence  of  a  system  of  ideas, 
of  a  mental  organization  built  up  in  personal  experience, 


SUGGESTION  2IQ 

leaves  the  child  without  any  controls  of  conduct  except  those 
given  in  its  inherited  nervous  constitution  and  the  sugges- 
tions that  come  to  it  from  others.  Hence  the  extensive  role 
which  suggestion  plays  in  the  life  of  the  child.  There  is 
doubtless  a  primal  stage  in  its  mental  history  in  which  the 
distinction  between  the  real  and  unreal  is  not  apprehended 
by  it,  in  which  it  cannot  accurately  be  said  to  exercise  belief, 
but  in  which  each  external  impression  is  simply  made  upon 
its  mind  without  being  in  a  conscious  way  related  to  others. 
Gradually  sense  impressions  received  in  this  way  form  the 
basis  of  a  mental  system ;  but  long  after  the  process  of  build- 
ing up  a  mental  system  has  begun,  the  child  is  almost  help- 
less before  suggestion  and  accepts  as  real  any  idea  imparted, 
and  acts  upon  it  unless  it  happens  to  collide  with  some  in- 
herited constitutional  tendency. 

The  growth  of  a  mind  is  like  the  development  of  a  new 
country.  At  first  it  is  open  to  invasion  from  every  direction, 
with  nothing  to  determine  the  character  of  the  incoming  peo- 
ples and  nothing  to  control  the  distribution  of  the  rapidly 
increasing  population,  except  the  configuration  of  its  surface 
and  the  location  of  its  natural  resources.  Sparse  settle- 
ments are  quickly  planted  here  and  there,  between  which,  as 
they  grow  in  size,  paths  of  intercommunication  are  opened 
up.  Steadily  these  population  centres  increase  in  number 
and  dimension  and  connecting  lines  of  travel  and  traffic 
multiply,  until  a  vast,  complex,  interrelated  society  is  or- 
ganized. As  the  social  organization  proceeds,  the  intro- 
duction of  new  people  and  new  social  influences  from  with- 
out is  regulated  with  reference  to  the  possibility  of  assim- 
ilating them  to  the  existing  system  of  social  life.  The  in- 
fantile period  of  the  individual  life  corresponds  to  the  earlier 
stages  of  this  development.  Into  the  new  country  come 
pouring  people  from  everywhere  with  little  regulation,  re- 
ceived with  the  open  hospitality  of  the  wide,  vacant,  fertile 
spaces.  Just  so  the  child-mind  takes  whatever  comes  to  it. 
It  simply  cannot  critically  examine  what  is  told  it ;  it  has  no 
criteria  established  in  its  experience  by  which  to  judge.  If 


22O  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

it  is  assured  that  in  fairyland  men  grow  as  tall  as  trees,  its 
own  experience  may  have  become  extensive  enough  to  make 
the  statement  appear  wonderful,  perhaps,  but  not  impos- 
sible ;  and  maybe  its  ideas  of  trees  and  men  are  so  indefinite 
and  uncorrelated  that  the  statement  does  not  cause  wonder, 
much  less  scepticism.  At  this  stage  almost  every  impres- 
sion which  the  child  receives  comes  to  it  with  the  force  of 
reality.  It  is  by  suggestion  alone  that  its  stock  of  ideas  is 
increased.  Instruction  of  the  little  one  proceeds  by  sug- 
gestion, and  it  is  only  at  a  later  period  and  gradually  that 
suggestions,  pure  and  simple,  can  be  replaced  by  rational 
processes  as  the  method  of  teaching.  Suggestion  in  the  in- 
fantile period  is  the  proper  method,  and  there  is  not  about 
it  then  the  malodorous  atmosphere  of  indirection  and  eva- 
sion which  is  apt  to  accompany  it  when  used  as  a  means  of 
influencing  adults,  and  this  for  the  simple  reason  that  there 
is  little  in  the  child's  mind  which  it  is  necessary  to  evade  in 
order  to  induce  it  to  accept  at  once  an  imparted  idea.  The 
indirection  and  evasion  which  are  associated  with  sugges- 
tion, in  the  technical  sense  of  the  word,  are  usually  occa- 
sioned by  the  necessity  of  avoiding  hindrances  and  obstruc- 
tions which  have  their  roots  in  the  mental  system  organized 
in  personal  life.  Very  few  such  impediments  are  found  in 
the  child's  life. 

Women  constitute  another  unusually  suggestible  class. 
This  statement  must,  of  course,  be  accepted  with  much  qual- 
ification, but  as  a  general  proposition  it  is  true.  It  is  prob- 
ably not  due  at  all  to  any  essential  inferiority  of  the  female 
mind.  Into  the  relative  mental  ability  of  the  sexes  this  is 
not  the  place  to  go ;  but  it  may  be  said  that  the  differences 
which  exist  are  in  all  probability  mainly  functional,  i.e.,  have 
their  origin  in  the  different  functions  that  men  and  women 
have  fulfilled  throughout  the  history  of  the  race,  and  seem 
under  the  conditions  of  modern  life  to  be  undergoing  con- 
siderable modification,  though  they  can  never  wholly  dis- 
appear. The  sex  functions  have  their  basis  in,  or,  it  might 
with  equal  plausibility  be  urged,  form  the  basis  of  certain 


SUGGESTION  221 

biological  differences  —  at  any  rate  are  closely  associated 
with  biological  peculiarities  —  which  doubtless  modify  to 
some  extent  the  mental  operations  of  men  and  women.  But 
into  that  somewhat  obscure  question  we  are  not  called  to 
go.  The  greater  suggestibility  of  women  is  certainly  due  in 
the  main  to  the  more  limited  range  of  their  activities,  and  to 
the  inferior  education  which  as  a  rule  they  have  received. 
From  the  beginning  of  human  society  women  have  moved  in 
a  narrower  and  more  monotonous  circle  of  experience  than 
men,  and  for  ages  it  was  not  felt  that  education  was  a  part 
of  the  appropriate  preparation  for  their  function  in  life. 
They  have  been  regarded  as  subject  to  men.  In  regard  to 
most  matters  a  woman's  mental  life  was  simply  the  echo 
or  shadow  of  the  opinions  and  beliefs  of  the  men  of  her 
group,  and,  if  she  were  married,  those  of  her  husband  in  par- 
ticular. To  be  suggestible  was  regarded  as  one  of  her  chief 
feminine  excellencies.  In  politics,  in  religion,  in  general 
views  of  life  she  was  expected  to  reflect  the  ideas  of  the 
men  on  whom  her  life  was  dependent.  In  certain  peculiarly 
sexual  virtues  alone  was  she  expected  to  be  superior  to  them, 
but  at  the  same  time  was  not  expected  to  be  intolerant  of 
their  dereliction.  The  status  of  women  is  much  the  same 
even  today,  although  it  has  been  greatly  modified  in  some 
parts  of  the  world. 

The  education  which  they  have  received  has  been  such  as 
fitted  in  with  this  conception  of  their  relation  to  the  other 
sex.  It  was  long  after  extensive  provision  for  the  educa- 
tion of  men  had  become  a  settled  social  policy  before  schools 
for  women  were  established ;  and  then  the  courses  of  study 
provided  for  them  were  not  selected  with  a  view  to  the  de- 
velopment of  their  rational  powers,  but  aimed  rather  at 
equipping  them  with  certain  "  accomplishments "  which 
would  supplement  their  natural  graces  and  reinforce  their 
personal  charms,  but  leave  them  deficient  in  mental  organ- 
ization and  for  the  most  part  innocent  of  ideas.  In  some 
parts  of  the  world  a  great  change,  amounting  almost  to  a 
revolution,  has  been  witnessed  in  the  last  forty  years.  But 


222  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

this  revolution  has  as  yet  only  indirectly  influenced  the  lives 
of  the  great  masses  of  women. 

Under  these  circumstances  it  would  be  remarkable  if 
women  were  not  far  more  suggestible  then  men.  In  mat- 
ters which  lie  wholly  beyond  the  range  of  their  experience 
they,  of  course,  accept  with  little  questioning  what  they 
have  heard  or  read,  just  as  everybody  does.  There  are 
many  important  affairs  in  which  they  take  only  an  indirect 
or  secondary  interest,  about  which  they  entertain,  however, 
very  positive  and  perhaps  intolerant  opinions  —  the  reflec- 
tion of  the  opinions  of  their  fathers  or  husbands  or  broth- 
ers, or  the  men  to  whom  they  for  some  reason  look  for 
leading.  This  is  true  as  to  politics,  theology,  and  the  the- 
ory of  life  in  general.  In  these  matters  women  are  very 
suggestible,  if  the  suggestions  come  from  the  men  who  are 
their  acknowledged  leaders;  extremely  unsuggestible  if  the 
suggestions  come  from  some  other  source  and  conflict  with 
the  authority  which  they  have  accepted.  Most  women  have 
no  first-hand  interest  in  such  matters.  Their  primary  in- 
terest is  in  persons,  not  theories,  and  from  the  persons 
who  enjoy  their  supreme  confidence  and  allegiance  they 
usually  receive  uncritically  their  theoretical  views,  which  are 
likely  to  be  held  with  passionate  positiveness  simply  because 
the  personal  relations  which  determine  them  involve  such 
deep  feelings.  It  is  their  extreme  readiness  to  receive  sug- 
gestions as  to  such  matters  from  certain  persons  which 
renders  them  extraordinarily  resistant  to  suggestions  from 
others. 

Women  are  also  more  subject  to  collective  suggestion 
than  men.  Prevalent  social  standards  and  codes  are  more 
readily  accepted  by  them,  and  it  is  alleged  that  "  fashion  " 
is  all-powerful  with  them.  Probably  men  would  have  diffi- 
culty in  establishing  their  claim  to  as  great  a  degree  of 
superiority  in  this  respect  as  they  assume ;  but  all  the  con- 
ditions of  their  life  tend  to  make  women  especially  sus- 
ceptible to  this  form  of  suggestion.  It  is  quite  impossible 
to  explain  on  any  other  ground  numerous  anomalies  and 


SUGGESTION  223 

irrationalities  in  the  fashions  of  female  dress  which  sud- 
denly sweep  over  the  civilized  world  and  as  suddenly  give 
way  to  some  other  "  mode,"  perhaps  even  more  absurd  than 
that  which  it  replaces.  But  here  also  is  noticeable  a  limita- 
tion of  their  suggestiblity.  If  they  are  disposed  to  accept 
uncritically  the  views  of  the  men  who  possess  their  loyalty 
in  matters  of  theological  anl  political  opinion  and  the  gen- 
eral theory  of  life,  their  minds  are  quite  closed  to  sugges- 
tions from  the  same  source  as  to  fashion  in  dress.  Here 
without  question  they  follow  other  gods,  unless  we  except 
a  certain  class  of  "new  women"  who  in  their  ambition  to 
enjoy  the  privileges  of  masculinity  try  to  ape  the  dress  of 
men.  Within  the  range  of  their  experience  and  knowledge 
and  about  matters  which  they  have  come  to  think  of  as 
within  their  peculiar  sphere  of  life,  they  are  no  more  sug- 
gestible than  men.  It  is  not  a  question  of  the  comparative 
mental  ability  of  men  and  women,  but  of  the  comparative 
range  of  their  experience  and  interests ;  and  from  the  origin 
of  society  women  have  been  confined  within  a  much  nar- 
rower and  more  monotonous  circle  of  life.  Always  and 
everywhere  persons  so  situated  are  readily  influenced  by 
means  of  suggestion,  and  especially  so  if  the  suggestion  is 
concerning  matters  outside  the  range  of  their  experience. 
The  mental  organization  of  such  persons  is  of  a  lower  grade, 
however  great  may  be  their  natural  capabilities.  It  is  in 
contact  with  a  varied  and  stimulating  environment,  either  in 
first-hand  experience  or  through  literature  —  or  preferably 
in  both  ways  —  that  the  mental  life  becomes  highly  and  pro- 
portionately organized  and  susceptibility  to  suggestion  cor- 
respondingly reduced. 

But  sometimes  it  happens  that  persons  who  live  in  an 
extensive  and  stimulating  environment,  who  have  varied 
contacts  with  the  world  and  read  much,  are  nevertheless  un- 
usually susceptible.  They  have  many  ideas,  but  their 
mental  life  never  loses  its  chaotic,  loosely  correlated,  ununi- 
fied  character;  and  they  remain  especially  suggestible. 
Doubtless  their  weakness  is  due  to  some  constitutional  de- 


224  PSYCHOLOGY   AND  PREACHING 

feet  of  the  brain  rather  than  the  lack  of  proper  education. 
There  are,  of  course,  all  degrees  of  defective  variation  from 
the  normal  organization  of  the  brain.  Many  who  are  not 
technically  classed  as  "  defectives  "  are  nevertheless  not  up 
to  the  standard  of  normality.  They  live  among  normal 
people,  and  participate  usefully  in  the  ordinary  functions  of 
life  and  keep  their  heads  above  water  in  the  competitive 
struggle;  but  are  exceedingly  suggestible  and  are  always 
under  the  control  of  more  powerful  minds,  because  their 
mental  life  can  never  attain  to  the  unity  and  coherence 
necessary  for  self-direction. 

We  must  turn  now  to  the  consideration  of  the  effective 
methods  of  suggestion. 

i.  Normal  suggestion,  in  order  to  be  effective,  must  be 
indirect.  It  must  not  come  as  a  command.  Yielding  to 
a  command,  whether  based  upon  recognized  authority  or 
upon  force,  is  a  different  thing  from  accepting  a  sugges- 
tion. Even  in  hypnosis  the  suggestion  is  received  not  as 
a  command  based  upon  recognised  authority  or  force;  and  in 
the  normal  process  the  distinction  is  still  broader.  If  the 
suggestion  is  given  as  a  command  in  normal  suggestion  it 
at  once  arouses  the  resistance  of  the  organism  to  the  abridg- 
ment of  its  autonomy.  After  a  person  has  been  brought  by 
some  means  under  the  abnormal  control  of  the  suggester, 
the  suggestion  may  be  given  in  the  form  of  a  command ;  but 
has  a  different  significance  to  the  subject  even  then.  Under 
ordinary  conditions  the  suggestion  is  ineffective  if  given  in 
a  form  likely  to  make  the  subject  feel  that  the  control  of  an- 
other is  being  forced  on  him,  or  that  he  is  being  made  the 
dupe  of  another.  The  more  highly  developed  the  person- 
ality of  the  subject  is,  the  more  necessary  is  the  skilful 
avoidance  of  any  act  or  manner  which  would  make  the  im- 
pression that  there  was  an  intention  to  interfere  with  his  per- 
sonal autonomy,  the  more  evident  must  be  the  scrupulous 
respect  for  his  personal  independence.  To  evince  a  high 
valuation  of  the  subject's  personality  adds  much  to  the  ef- 
fectiveness of  the  suggestion,  and  in  the  case  of  weak  or 


SUGGESTION  225 

vain  persons  it  may  even  help  for  it  to  take  the  form  of  gross 
flattery.  This  is  one  of  the  well-known  artifices  of  the  po- 
litical demagogue ;  indeed,  is  a  favourite  method  of  demagogy 
in  every  sphere  of  life.  But  with  an  average  audience  or  an 
individual  of  experience  it  must  be  used  with  caution  lest  it 
defeat  its  own  ends.  It  is  fatal  to  make  the  impression  of 
flattery ;  for  the  paradox  holds  true  that  while  there  is  no- 
body who  does  not  like  to  be  flattered,  everybody  resents 
flattery  and  despises  the  flatterer.  But  when  attempting  to 
exert  suggestive  influence  upon  a  highly  developed  person- 
ality the  visible  indirection  of  the  method  is,  perhaps,  even 
more  fatal  to  success  than  a  direct  effort  to  control  him.  In 
any  case  the  indirection  should  not  be  obvious  to  the  subject. 
Hence  it  is  that  a  most  effective  method  often  is  a  great 
show  of  frankness  and  straightforwardness,  which  is  the 
very  perfection  of  indirection. 

But  indirection  is  essential  to  the  effectiveness  of  nor- 
mal suggestion  not  only  because  it  respects  personal  inde- 
pendence, but  because  it  avoids  arousing  into  activity  what- 
ever contents  of  the  mind  may  be  opposed  to  the  idea  sug- 
gested. The  idea  which  is  presented  directly  is  far  more 
likely,  under  normal  conditions,  to  call  into  consciousness 
ideas  of  an  opposing  tendency.  It  comes  boldly  knocking  at 
the  front  door  and  will  not  be  likely  to  gain  admittance  with- 
out at  least  waking  up  the  inmates  of  the  house  and  increas- 
ing the  chances  that  it  will  be  challenged  before  crossing  the 
threshold.  If  the  idea  is  presented  in  such  a  way  as  to  make 
the  person  feel  that  it  has  occurred  to  him,  is  the  product  of 
his  own  mental  activity,  it  has  the  advantage  of  enlisting 
self-respect  on  its  side,  and  this  adds  greatly  to  its  suggestive 
force. 

2.  It  is  important  to  secure  the  confidence  of  the  sub- 
ject. To  do  this  the  first  essential  is  to  make  the  impression 
that  the  suggestion  comes  from  a  disinterested  source.  If  in 
making  the  suggestion  there  is  any  indication  that  the  sug- 
gester  has  a  personal  end  to  attain  the  effect  is,  of  course, 
at  once  fatal  to  success.  If  the  impression  is  conveyed  that 


226  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

the  person  imparting  the  idea  is  not  only  without  a  personal 
interest  to  serve,  but  is  positively  devoted  to  the  interest  of 
the  one  he  seeks  to  influence;  if  he  can  appear  to  be  sacri- 
ficing some  personal  interest,  he  can  enormously  increase 
the  force  of  his  suggestion.  He  not  only  disarms  criticism 
and  opposition  but  arouses  sympathy  and  wins  affection, 
which  lends  a  great  moral  force  to  his  suggestions.  This 
is  based  upon  the  well-known  fact,  which  reflects  the  highest 
credit  on  human  nature,  that  disinterested  devotion  to  the 
welfare  of  others  confers  a  mighty  moral  authority.  It  is 
not  strange  that  men  who  are  moved  by  motives  less  divine 
should  often  wear  the  livery  of  love,  sometimes,  perhaps, 
without  fully  realizing  the  ethical  significance  of  what  they 
are  doing.  The  politician  magnifies  his  service  to  the  peo- 
ple. Sometimes  the  preacher  magnifies  not  his  calling,  as 
Paul  did,  but  his  sacrifices  and  hardships,  only  half  con- 
scious, let  us  hope,  that  he  is  thus  seeking  an  influence  with 
the  people  which  will  lead  them  to  be  more  tolerant  of  his 
shortcomings  and  derelictions,  more  uncritical  in  the  accept- 
ance of  his  favourite  notions  and,  possibly,  disposed  to  con- 
tribute more  freely  and  less  questioningly  to  his  material 
support.  But  whether  the  impression  of  disinterested  devo- 
tion be  the  result  of  artful  design  or  not,  it  is  an  important 
condition  of  suggestive  power. 

A  second  important  method  of  securing  the  confidence 
which  gives  force  to  one's  suggestion  is  to  make  the  im- 
pression that  one  is  a  recognized  authority  on  the  subject  of 
which  he  speaks.  Give  one  prestige  in  any  walk  of  life  or 
in  any  department  of  thought,  and  it  imparts  a  strange  sug- 
gestive force  to  what  he  says.  A  man  achieves  a  world- 
wide reputation  as  a  chemist,  and  the  masses  of  men  accept 
unquestioningly  his  declarations  on  chemical  subjects,  how- 
ever improbable  they  may  be.  A  man  who  has  come  to  be 
the  acknowledged  leader  of  his  political  party  will  find  that 
his  words  carry  in  the  minds  of  the  people  a  weight  alto- 
gether out  of  proportion  to  their  reasonableness  or  his  real 
wisdom.  The  people  often  listen  with  rapt  attention  to  one 


SUGGESTION  227 

who  has  acquired  a  wide  reputation  as  a  great  preacher, 
even  though  his  utterances  may  be  very  commonplace  and 
would  be  so  regarded  if  they  came  from  an  obscure  man. 
Eminence  gives  to  a  person's  utterances  extraordinary 
weight  even  about  matters  concerning  which  he  has  no  ex- 
pert knowledge  or  special  skill.  Distinction,  reputation, 
high  position  give  authority,  predispose  people  to  belief, 
tend  to  allay  doubts  and  questionings,  and  induce  uncritical 
acceptance  of  the  statements  which  come  from  so  impres- 
sive a  source.  It  is  a  popular  susceptibility  to  this  form  of 
suggestion  which  gives  to  great  leaders  in  any  line  of 
thought  or  activity  a  power  over  the  uncultured  populace 
that  is  so  extensive,  so  absolute  and  so  permanent,  and  that 
is  often  so  sadly  in  excess  of  their  personal  worth  and  abil- 
ity. A  man  of  mediocre  ability  may  by  shrewd  self-adver- 
tisement acquire  on  this  ground  an  authority  in  religious  and 
political  bodies  which  would  be  laughable  were  it  not  so 
serious  in  its  practical  import.  Sometimes  a  veritable  char- 
latan secures  in  this  way  a  greater  influence  over  many  peo- 
ple than  men  of  sound  character  and  ripe  wisdom  can  ac- 
quire. It  would,  however,  be  a  capital  mistake  to  draw 
from  these  facts  an  inference  prejudicial  to  democracy;  for 
we  must  remember  that  under  a  system  of  absolutism  the 
monarch  by  reason  of  his  exaltation  possesses  extravagant 
suggestive  power  over  the  masses  of  the  people,  and  at 
the  same  time  is,  himself,'  by  the  very  conditions  of  his  life 
and  training,  often  peculiarly  suggestible  along  certain  lines ; 
and  cunning  self-seekers  flourish  by  exploiting  this  weakness 
of  the  sovereign,  and  their  machinations  are  carried  on  in 
secret  and  are  not  given  the  publicity  which  they  cannot 
wholly  avoid  in  a  democracy.  Sooner  or  later  publicity 
will  destroy  the  power  of  a  mere  demagogue.  "  You  can- 
not fool  all  the  people  all  the  time." 

Often,  however,  a  man's  suggestive  power  rests  upon  a 
foundation  more  secure  than  mere  reputation  or  popular 
prestige.  It  may  be  the  result  of  some  peculiar  and  unde- 
fmable  quality  of  his  personality.  Some  men  have  a  strange 


228  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

power  to  cast  a  spell  over  others.  It  is  popularly  called 
"  personal  magnetism,"  though  that  is  by  no  means  a  de- 
scriptive phrase,  only  a  name  for  our  ignorance.  Some- 
times it  seems  to  be  a  charming  winsomeness  that  takes  us 
willing  captives ;  sometimes  we  feel  a  contagious  enthusiasm 
which,  like  a  pervasive  warmth,  penetrates  and  thaws  out 
the  frost  of  our  indifference,  or  even  our  opposition ;  some- 
times we  find  ourselves  quietly  submitting  without  a  struggle 
to  the  sheer  dominating  strength  of  a  personality,  as  to  a 
mighty  force  of  nature  against  which  we  feel  it  vain  to 
strive.  But  whatever  form  this  power  takes  it  seems  to 
master  us  by  the  inhibition  of  our  individual  rational  powers, 
so  that  the  ideas  of  the  masterful  personality  are  grafted 
upon  our  pliant  minds.  A  far  more  useful  and  socially  val- 
uable type  of  personality  is  that  which  influences  us  not  by 
inhibition  but  by  stimulation.  Some  men  seem  to  wake  up 
all  that  is  latent  in  our  own  personalities.  In  their  pres- 
ence we  seem  to  be  most  truly  and  fully  ourselves.  But  the 
kind  of  personal  force  we  have  been  describing  is  that 
which,  though  it  may  induce  in  us  pleasant  feelings,  limits 
or  suspends  in  some  degree  our  self-activity.  It  is  not 
pleasant  to  realize  that  such  personal  force  may  be  found  in 
connection  with  personal  unworthiness ;  but  there  certainly 
does  not  seem  to  be  any  fixed  and  invariable  connection  be- 
tween such  qualities  and  ethical  soundness  of  character,  and 
frequently  the  demagogue  and  the  charlatan  are  personally 
almost  irresistible.  But  whether  men  so  gifted  be  good  or 
bad,  they  are  able  to  cast  their  spell  on  individuals  and  audi- 
ences and  sway  them  by  the  power  of  suggestion.  Their 
presence  and  bearing  secure  confidence  by  driving  out  of 
the  field  of  consciousness  for  the  time  being  all  opposing 
ideas. 

Still  another  method  of  securing  the  confidence  of  the 
subject  is  to  begin  on  common  ground  with  him;  emphasize 
beliefs  which  he  holds  and  particularly  those  which  he  holds 
with  especial  tenacity;  encourage  his  peculiar  prejudices 
and  predilections.  This  is  highly  effective,  whether  it  be  an 


SUGGESTION  22Q 

individual  or  an  audience  one  is  seeking  to  influence  sug- 
gestively. The  prepossession  which  it  creates  in  one's 
favour  renders  the  subject  uncritical,  forestalls  or  weakens 
the  force  of  any  objections  which  may  chance  to  arise  in  the 
mind.  Persons  who  have  intense  prejudices,  and  ill-bal- 
anced people  who  place  excessive  emphasis  upon  certain  pet 
notions,  doctrines  or  theories,  are  peculiarly  susceptible  to 
suggestion  by  this  method;  and  who  has  not  his  irrational 
convictions,  adhesion  to  which  seems  to  him  the  surest 
guaranty  of  rationality,  and  his  favourite  doctrine  or 
theory  which  seems  to  him  to  be  the  very  axis  of  the  sphere 
of  truth?  The  skilful  suggester,  approaching  him  on  this 
"  blind  side,"  stands  an  excellent  chance  of  inserting  some 
idea  into  his  mind  and  securing  its  uncritical  acceptance; 
for  surely,  the  subject  feels,  one  who  is  wise  enough  to  share 
this  prejudice  and  has  insight  enough  to  appreciate  the  car- 
dinal truth  of  this  doctrine  or  theory  can  be  trusted  to  have 
safe  and  sound  ideas  in  general. 

3.  The  fact  has  previously  been  mentioned  that  all  men 
are  in  some  measure  subject  to  suggestive  influence;  but 
there  is  one  condition  under  which  all  men  are  easy  victims. 
Any  person  who  is  under  the  sway  of  a  strong  emotion  or  a 
mighty  passion  is  extraordinarily  suggestible  in  the  general 
direction  of  that  emotion  or  passion.  Suppose  an  incident 
has  occurred  which  has  excited  in  a  man  the  fear  that  his 
house  may  be  burglarized.  One  need  only  whisper  to  him 
in  the  night  that  a  burglar  is  in  the  house  in  order  to  start 
him  out  with  bated  breath  and  with  pistol  in  hand  to  sur- 
prise and  shoot  the  intruder.  A  man  who  is  consumed  with 
the  passion  of  political  ambition  needs  only  to  be  told  by  a 
few  friends  that  he  is  the  logical  candidate  for  the  legis- 
lature or  the  governorship  to  plunge  with  confident  en- 
thusiasm into  the  campaign.  Those  few  favouring  voices 
are  multiplied  in  his  too  willing  ears  to  the  volume  of  a  loud 
popular  demand.  The  girl  who  is  really  in  love  with  a 
young  man  accepts  with  unquestioning  faith  the  slightest 
assurance  that  his  character  is  irreproachable.  The  people 


23O  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

who  have  been  stirred  to  deep  resentment  by  the  knowledge 
that  illegitimate  influences  have  been  exerted  by  special  in- 
terests upon  their  representatives  in  the  government  are  apt 
to  accept  without  examination  every  charge  of  bribery  and 
corruption;  and  the  artful  demagogues  know  only  too  well 
how  to  avail  themselves  of  the  heightened  popular  sug- 
gestibility in  order  to  cast  a  fatal  suspicion  upon  the  true 
friends  of  the  people's  interests.  The  emotion  or  passion 
in  such  cases  acts  as  a  powerful  inhibition  of  all  contrary 
ideas,  narrows  the  field  of  consciousness  and  gives  particu- 
larly free  right  of  way  to  the  appropriate  suggestion.  The 
idea  which  prompts  to  action  in  the  line  of  the  emotion  or 
passion  is  like  a  boat  which  is  rowed  with  the  stream,  while 
the  ideas  of  a  contrary  tendency  must  breast  the  momentum 
of  the  current.  It  is  evident  that,  since  almost  every  man 
has  some  pronounced  emotional  tendency  and  is  the  subject 
of  some  master  passion,  most  people  are  easily  influenced 
by  suggestion  if  only  the  proper  line  of  approach  to  the 
citadel  of  their  personality  can  be  discovered.  Hence  one 
of  the  most  effective  ways  of  inducing  suggestibility  is  to 
stir  the  emotions,  inflame  the  passions  of  the  subject. 

4.  Repetition  is  often  necessary  to  render  suggestion 
effective.  It  appears  that  the  motor  effect  of  the  idea  ac- 
cumulates with  successive  repetitions.  The  motor  impulse 
imparted  by  the  suggestion  does  not  pass  away  immediately, 
and  if  before  it  dies  out  completely  the  strength  of  the 
second  impulse  is  added  to  the  remaining  strength  of  the 
first,  the  pressure  increases,  like  the  weight  of  an  accumu- 
lating mass  of  water  against  a  dam.  Manifestly  when 
repetition  is  necessary,  the  suggested  idea  has  met  with  some 
degree  of  resistance.  There  is  often  in  the  mental  situation 
some  contrary  tendency  which  does  not  spring  from  clearly 
conscious  reasons.  It  may  be  some  idea  or  "  reason  "  which 
is  not  at  the  time  in  consciousness,  but  whose  influence  is 
projected  into  the  conscious  field ;  or  it  may  be  the  mere 
blind  "  pull  "  of  a  disposition  or  a  habit ;  but  when  the 
suggestion  meets  with  this  sort  of  resistance,  it  is  important 


SUGGESTION  23! 

to  prevent  any  definite  contrary  ideas  from  becoming  con- 
scious, until  the  suggested  idea  by  this  cumulative  effect 
can  over-bear  this  blind  obstruction.  If'  in  this  way  the 
obstruction  is  not  soon  overcome;  if  the  process  of  sugges- 
tion is  discontinued  so  long  as  to  lose  cumulative  motor 
effect,  one,  or  perhaps  both,  of  two  results  will  follow. 
First,  the  law  of  habit  will  intervene  to  give  greater  relative 
strength  to  the  resistance.  We  say  sometimes  that  a  man 
has  become  "  hardened "  to  certain  influences.  His  re- 
sistance may  not  be  based  upon  any  definite  reasons  but  he 
becomes  more  and  more  indifferent  to  such  appeals.  This 
blind  momentum  of  his  nature,  having  prevailed  again  and 
again  against  counter  influences,  has  become  practically 
immovable.  Second,  if  the  suggestion  fails  and  is  discon- 
tinued, there  is  always  the  probability  that  ideas  which  at 
first  were  operative  only  in  a  sub-conscious  way  will  rise 
into  clear  consciousness  and  become  far  more  powerful  as 
definite  reasons  against  the  suggestion.  But  this  leads  to 
the  consideration  of  a  matter  which  we  must  now  dis- 
cuss in  some  detail. 

Repetition  should  not  be  continuous  nor  occur  with  too 
much  regularity.  In  the  first  place,  it  soon  becomes,  under 
ordinary  conditions,  intolerably  wearisome.  I  have  heard 
of  an  evangelist  whose  entire  discourse  on  one  occasion  con- 
sisted of  the  repetition,  in  different  tones  of  voice  and  with 
endless  variations  of  emphasis,  of  one  single  passage  of 
scripture  which  described  in  terrible  terms  the  perdition 
of  the  wicked.  The  effect  was  said  to  have  been  startling. 
But  in  that  particular  case  the  religious  excitement  had 
been  running  high  for  several  days  and  the  conditions  were 
extraordinary.  Ordinarily  such  a  procedure  would  prove 
a  fiasco.  In  the  second  place,  the  repetition,  if  it  occurs  at 
such  regular  intervals  as  to  attract  attention  to  the  regu- 
larity, will  cause  a  diversion  which  will  tend  to  destroy  the 
effect ;  and  it  will  also  excite  the  suspicion  of  artful  design, 
which  will  prevent  success.  The  oftener  it  recurs  regularly 
without  success,  the  less  will  be  its  power.  The  law  of 


232  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

habit-formation  will  see  to  that.  If  the  suggestion  be  re- 
peated by  different  persons  at  irregular  intervals,  in  such  a 
way  as  to  avoid  making  the  impression  of  collusion,  the  sug- 
gestive effect  is  heightened.  We  are  familiar  with  the  stock 
illustration  of  the  power  of  a  suggestion  repeated  in  this 
way.  A  man  walks  down  the  street  in  the  morning  feeling 
in  excellent  health.  He  meets  a  friend  who  remarks, 
"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  ?  You  do  not  look  at  all  well  this 
morning."  From  time  to  time  throughout  the  day  other 
friends  make  the  same  or  similar  remarks  concerning  his 
appearance.  In  the  evening  the  man  returns  home  looking 
and  feeling  unwell.  There  is  added  to  the  cumulative  effect 
of  mere  repetition  the  massive  effect  of  collective  sugges- 
tion. The  same  declaration  made  by  two  men  is  more  im- 
pressive than  the  declaration  made  twice  by  one  man ;  and 
the  repetition  of  a  statement  by  a  thousand  persons  may 
be  overwhelming,  while  a  thousand  repetitions  of  it  by  one 
person  might  be  wholly  ineffective.  Beyond  a  certain  point, 
which  is  soon  reached,  repetition  by  the  same  person  ceases 
to  add  force,  if  it  does  not  excite  suspicion  or  disgust.  But 
the  greater  the  number  of  persons  who  concur  in  the 
affirmation  of  any  proposition,  the  greater  becomes  its  sug- 
gestive power.  However,  collective  suggestion  will  receive 
consideration  later  on  and  need  not  be  dwelt  upon  here. 

5.  Suggestion  aims  at  immediate  or  speedy  effects.  Its 
effectiveness  is  usually  in  proportion  to  the  immediateness 
of  the  response.  The  reason  is  obvious.  In  normal  sug- 
gestion the  lapse  of  time  increases  the  opportunity  for 
bringing  out  all  relevant  considerations  and  for  a  rational 
examination  of  the  idea  suggested,  in  which  it  may  be  in- 
telligently rejected;  or  if  thoughtfully  adopted,  its  accept- 
ance will  be  the  result  not  of  suggestibility  but  of  rational 
activity.  It  is  noticeable  that  those  who  rely  upon  sugges- 
tion as  a  method  of  influencing  others  usually  insist  upon 
immediate  action,  while  those  who  instinctively  resist  this 
kind  of  influence  usually  insist  upon  postponement  of  action, 
and  it  is  a  healthy  instinct.  The  desire  to  postpone  action 


SUGGESTION  233 

may  be,  and  often  is,  the  result  of  moral  inertia,  or  of  a  habit 
that  has  enfeebled  the  will,  or  of  a  positive  inclination  in  a 
wrong  direction.  This  is  so  often  the  case  that  one  hesitates 
to  say  anything  to  encourage  the  deferring  of  action  in 
response  to  an  appeal.  But  it  is  nevertheless  true  that,  if 
the  response  is  one  of  thoughtless  impulse,  a  mere  nervous 
reaction  under  the  power  of  suggestion,  its  ethical  value  is 
naught.  The  only  antidote  for  an  enfeebled  will  is  to 
stimulate  to  voluntary  action,  the  rational  control  of  con- 
duct; and  an  immediate  motor  reaction  induced  merely  by 
suggestion  only  adds  to  the  enf  eeblement  of  the  will.  There 
is  no  curative  power,  no  redemptive  virtue  in  it.  One  is 
thus  often  precipitated  into  action  which  is  subsequently 
deplored  and  can  only  with  difficulty  be  reconsidered;  or 
committed  to  a  position  from  which  he  would  gladly  recede 
but  cannot  without  self-stultification ;  and  so  goes  on  through 
life  embarrassed  and  morally  compromised  by  the  conscious- 
ness of  standing  in  false  relations.  This  exactly  describes 
the  situation  of  thousands  who  today  are  enrolled  as  mem- 
bers of  Christian  churches;  and,  while  it  enables  the 
churches  to  make  a  brave  show  as  to  numerical  strength, 
is  one  of  the  chief  causes  of  the  comparative  lack  of  power 
of  organized  Christianity.  I  make  bold  to  say  that  the  dis- 
astrous results  of  this  false  psychological  method  are  more 
general  and  more  irremediable  in  the  realm  of  religion  than 
anywhere  else. 

The  very  terms  of  the  definition  as  well  as  the  whole  fore- 
going discussion  imply  that  there  is  an  art  of  suggestion. 
That  art  is,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  used  in  a  great 
variety  of  circumstances  in  practical  life.  The  huckster 
vending  his  wares,  the  politician  seeking  votes  for  his  party, 
the  lawyer  pleading  before  a  jury,  the  veteran  in  vice  tempt- 
ing his  companion  to  go  astray,  the  drummer  seeking  an 
order,  the  salesman  behind  the  counter,  the  advertiser  in  the 
newspaper  (perhaps  this  is  the  field  in  which  the  art  is  most 
systematically  employed  and  most  highly  developed),  and 
others  in  various  lines  of  activity  too  numerous  to  mention 


234  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

make  use  of  this  art.  It  is  also  obvious  from  what  has 
been  said  that  it  may  sometimes  be  legitimately  used  for 
worthy  purposes.  But  while  it  is  freely  granted  that  it  has 
its  spheres  of  legitimate  use,  it  is  also  true  that  those 
spheres  are  limited.  It  is  brought  under  suspicion  by  the 
very  fact  that  it  aims  at  the  uncritical  acceptance  of  the 
presentation.  There  is  iri  it  a  certain  lack  of  openness  and 
straightforwardness.  It  is  not  exactly  a  form  of  mental 
burglary;  but  when  one  is  dealing  with  adults  it  procures 
assent,  belief  and  action  —  captures  the  mind  —  by  indirec- 
tion and  evasion. 

This  characteristic  sharply  differentiates  suggestion  from 
persuasion.  Both  aim  at  influencing  the  belief  and  action  of 
another;  but  the  methods  are  very  different,  if  not  directly 
opposite.  Persuasion  seeks  something  more  than  uncritical 
assent  and  unreflective  action;  its  objective  is  rational  con- 
viction and  action,  which  is  the  reaction  of  the  whole  mind. 
Its  method,  therefore,  is  to  face  all  the  essential  issues,  to 
meet  and  fairly  allay  all  opposing  considerations  by  open 
reasoning.  In  persuasion,  appeals  to  the  feelings  are  legiti- 
mate, important ;  but  the  appeals  must  be  made  in  the  light 
of  all  the  relevant  facts  and  conditions.  In  suggestion  the 
effort  is  to  avoid  arousing  the  self  of  the  person  into  full 
activity,  often  to  reduce  his  self-activity  to  a  minimum,  and 
thus  to  graft  one's  own  idea  or  purpose  on  to  his  mental  life. 
In  persuasion  the  effort  is  to  help  another  in  his  self-activity 
to  reach  a  rational  and  satisfactory  conclusion,  by  a  skilful 
and  truthful  presentation  of  the  favouring  and  opposing 
considerations.  This  is  the  ideal,  but  of  course  persuasion 
often  falls  short  of  this  ideal;  it  may  degenerate  into  an 
illegitimate  appeal  to  motives  which  should  have  but  a  small 
influence,  if  any,  in  determining  the  decision  —  a  form  of 
pressure  which  over-bears  the  reasons  which  ought  to  be 
determinative.  Or  the  temptation  to  adopt  the  method  of 
suggestion  may  become  too  strong,  and  the  persuader  seek 
to  win  his  point  by  diverting  attention  from  considerations 
which  it  would  be  inconvenient  for  him  to  meet  by  counter- 


SUGGESTION  235 

vailing  arguments.  But  when  the  resort  is  made  either  to 
irrational  passion  or  to  suggestive  indirection,  the  high  func- 
tion of  persuasion  is  abdicated;  and  that  surely  is  the  true 
function  of  preaching.  The  ancient  prophet  represented 
Jehovah  as  issuing  his  broad  and  open  invitation  to  men  in 
these  words :  "  Come  now,  and  let  us  reason  together." 
The  great  apostle  of  the  Christian  epoch  uses  even  more 
emphatic  language :  "  but  [we]  have  renounced  the  hidden 
things  of  dishonesty,  not  walking  in  craftiness  nor  handling 
the  word  of  God  deceitfully;  but  by  manifestation  of  the 
truth  commending  ourselves  to  every  man's  conscience  in 
the  sight  of  God."  Again  he  says,  "  we  persuade  men." 
No  nobler  activity  can  engage  one's  mind  than  the  per- 
suasion of  men  to  right  action,  and  the  fruition  of  such 
endeavour  is  the  sweetest  and  most  satisfying  to  which  men 
can  attain.  Let  the  preacher,  above  all  men,  cultivate  a 
scrupulous  conscience  as  to  the  psychological  method  which 
he  uses;  and,  guarding  against  all  cheap  and  false  substi- 
tutes, keep  himself  faithfully  to  his  function  and  make  his 
appeals  to  the  rational  nature  of  men. 

This  duty  is  emphasized  by  the  fact  that  the  conditions 
under  which  convention  requires  that  preaching  usually  be 
done  render  the  method  of  suggestion  peculiarly  easy.  No 
reply,  no  questioning,  no  interruption  is  permitted. 


CHAPTER  XI 

ASSEMBLIES 

WHEN  a  number  of  persons  are  assembled  the  mental 
processes  of  each  are  modified,  so  that  his  feeling,  thinking 
and  acting  are  different  from  what  they  would  be  were  he 
alone.  Each  is  more  or  less  conscious  of  the  presence  of 
the  others,  and  this  consciousness  affects  in  some  measure 
his  general  mental  state;  this  modification  of  his  mental 
state  is  reflected,  however  slightly,  in  his  bearing  and  action, 
and,  in  turn,  reacts  upon  the  mental  state  of  those  in  his 
presence.  There  is  initiated  at  once  a  series  of  interactions 
between  the  persons  assembled  which  can  not  stop  until  they 
are  again  dispersed.  This  class  of  psychic  phenomena  is  of 
peculiar  interest,  and  increasingly  so  in  this  age  of  dense 
massing  of  population  and  of  great  popular  gatherings. 

We  may  for  convenience  divide  assemblies  into  several 
classes.  The  two  chief  classes  we  shall  distinguish  accord- 
ing to  the  absence  or  presence  of  a  common  purpose  in  the 
coming  together  of  the  people. 

I.  There  is  the  purely  accidental  concourse.  A  number 
of  persons  find  themselves  near  to  one  another  by  accident, 
as  each  pursues  his  individual  way.  They  are  there  with  no 
common  purpose,  and  have  no  other  sort  of  common  interest 
in  being  there.  They  have  spatial  unity,  so  to  speak;  they 
are  in  the  same  locality  at  the  same  time,  and  perhaps  this 
unity  is  only  for  the  moment.  Have  they  any  psychical 
unity  ? 

Now,  the  proposition  as  to  mental  interaction  was  stated 
as  universal,  but  it  may  fairly  be  questioned  whether  it  holds 
good  as  to  the  accidental  concourse.  When,  for  instance 
—  to  take  an  extreme  case  —  a  number  of  people,  each  of 

236 


ASSEMBLIES  237 

whom  is  bent  upon  his  own  separate  purpose  and  going  his 
own  way,  find  themselves  in  juxtaposition  on  the  street,  can 
it  be  claimed  with  reason  that  there  results  a  modification 
of  the  mental* life  of  each?  Certainly  in  such  a  case  the 
interaction  is  at  a  minimum ;  and  yet  a  little  careful  intro- 
spection and  observation  seem  to  me  to  show  that  even 
under  such  circumstances  the  thinking  of  the  individual, 
although  he  be  absorbed  in  his  own  affairs  at  the  time  and 
oblivious  of  the  presence  of  the  others,  is  not  quite  the  same 
as  it  would  be  if  he  were  isolated.  It  would  seem  that  there 
must  be  some  distraction  of  the  attention,  even  in  the  case 
of  those  most  habituated  to  street  life.  But  this  does  not 
constitute  mental  unification.  It  is  probable  that  there  is 
also  some  more  positive  subconscious  influence  resulting 
from  the  presence  of  others.  This  is,  however,  a  matter 
of  only  theoretical  interest  and  may  be  passed  by.  From 
the  psychological  point  of  view  the  matter  of  chief  im- 
portance about  such  chance  assemblies  is  that  they  may  be  so 
easily  converted  into  crowds  with  a  decided  mental  unity. 
A  slight  incident  may  arrest  the  passing  throng  on  the 
sidewalk  and  focus  the  attention  of  all;  and  instantly  the 
interaction  of  many  minds,  even  if  it  were  wholly  absent 
before,  becomes  obvious  and  more  or  less  powerful  accord- 
ing to  circumstances.  A  mob  may  originate  in  this  way, 
when  the  incident  which  focuses  the  attention  of  the  throng 
is  of  a  highly  exciting  character,  especially  if  it  arouses  to  a 
high  intensity  some  of  the  more  powerful  emotions  and 
some  strong  leader  is  ready  with  the  appropriate  sugges- 
tion. 

To  the  preacher  the  psychology  of  the  street  throng  is-  of 
interest  because  of  the  revival  of  street  preaching  —  a 
method  of  reaching  the  masses  which  has  been  so  effectually 
used  by  the  Salvation  Army  and  is  now  copied  by  an  in- 
creasing number  of  Christian  workers.  Its  effectiveness 
consists,  first,  in  the  contrast  which  a  religious  service  and 
appeal  offer  to  the  environment  of  street  life,  where  men  are 
usually  engaged  in  the  diligent  pursuit  of  material  values. 


238  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

The  soft,  sweet  strains  of  a  Christian  hymn  rising  amidst 
the  din  and  roar  of  traffic  is  a  most  effective  means  of  arrest- 
ing the  attention;  and  the  appeal  to  men  to  turn  their 
thought  toward  the  things  that  transcend  time  and  sense 
often  succeeds,  by  its  very  strangeness  in  such  surround- 
ings, in  awakening  a  thrill  in  a  heart  that  would  under 
ordinary  circumstances  be  wholly  unresponsive.  In  the 
second  place,  the  voice  of  the  singer  or  preacher  often  falls 
upon  the  ears  of  a  passer-by  at  "  the  psychological  mo- 
ment " ;  for  a  man  is  often  peculiarly  conscious  under  these 
conditions  of  the  strain  and  pressure  of  life,  of  the  sordid- 
ness  of  materialism,  of  the  mocking  vanity  of  a  life  of  trans- 
gression, of  the  need  of  moral  cleansing,  spiritual  consola- 
tion and  support.  At  such  moments  his  mind  and  heart 
are  quite  susceptible  to  the  religious  appeal.  But  notwith- 
standing these  advantages,  street  preaching  is  not  easy. 
Only  a  few  are  sufficiently  interested  to  be  held ;  the  urge  of 
business  is  upon  them.  Many  stop  for  a  moment  and  then 
move  on,  and  newcomers  are  constantly  arriving.  The 
speaker  addresses  a  moving  procession  which  swarms  by  a 
little  nucleus  of  interested  listeners.  It  is  extremely  difficult 
to  secure  a  sufficiently  stable  group  to  induce  mental  unity. 
The  diverting  and  distracting  influences  are  very  hard  to 
overcome.  Something  is  required  which  excites  powerful 
emotions  in  order  to  form  a  unified  psychological  group 
under  such  conditions. 

II.  The  purposive  assembly.  In  this  a  group  of  people 
are  brought  together  by  the  same  purpose. 

Of  course,  the  common  purposes  which  bring  crowds  of 
people  together  are  very  various  and  of  all  degrees  of  im- 
portance. The  throng  gathered  to  see  or  hear  the  "  re- 
turns "  after  an  election ;  or  to  pass  through  the  gates  to 
the  train  at  a  railway  station;  or  to  gaze  at  an  interesting 
exhibit  or  performance  at  a  "  fair  " —  and  many  others  that 
will  occur  to  the  reader  —  afford  profitable  opportunities 
for  the  study  of  mass  psychology ;  but  may  be  passed  by  as 
having  little  significance  for  the  special  interest  of  this  dis- 


ASSEMBLIES  239 

cussion.  Under  the  general  class  of  purposive  assemblies 
there  are  two  types  which  it  is  specially  important  for  us  to 
consider. 

i.  The  inspirational  gathering.  I  shall  use  the  term,  in- 
spirational, rather  broadly.  I  mean  by  inspirational  gather- 
ing the  coming  together  of  people  for  the  purpose  of  being 
stimulated  or  inspired  by  appeals  to  their  intellectual  or 
emotional  nature.  It  includes,  at  one  extreme,  a  group  as- 
sembled for  mere  entertainment;  and,  at  the  other,  a  class 
assembled  in  the  lecture  room  for  instruction.  But  in  any 
case  the  appeal  is,  with  whatever  difference  of  emphasis,  to 
both  the  intellect  and  the  emotions. 

This  kind  of  assembly  has  three  clearly  defined  marks. 
First,  it  is  physically  segregated  —  usually  shut  up  within 
the  walls  of  a  building,  though  in  some  cases  it  meets  in  the 
open  air.  This  gives  it  the  unity  of  locality  in  such  a  way 
as  to  emphasize  the  consciousness  of  unity.  The  persons  so 
brought  together  feel  their  unity  all  the  more  from  the  fact 
that  they  are  separated  as  a  group  from  other  men,  i.e.,  the 
local  unity  itself  develops  a  certain  measure  of  psychic 
unity.  Second,  its  members  have  a  unity  of  purpose  in 
being  present.  Often  this  sense  of  common  purpose  in 
being  together  is  only  relative  and  indefinite,  and  in  the  case 
of  the  average  church  congregation,  some  of  whom  are 
present  solely,  and  many  partly,  from  force  of  habit,  other 
motives  operate  which  are  only  remotely  related,  if  related 
at  all,  to  the  purpose  which  is  supposed  to  have  influenced 
them.  However,  on  the  whole,  such  gatherings  have  a 
certain  unity  of  purpose,  loose  and  indefinite  as  it  may  be, 
which  constitutes  a  psychical  bond  of  considerable  strength. 
Third, —  and  this  is  a  very  important  characteristic  which 
differentiates  it  sharply  from  other  kinds  of  assemblies  — 
its  members  are  there  to  be  entertained  or  stimulated  or 
influenced  in  some  definite  way.  They  may  take  part,  more 
or  less,  in  some  of  the  exercises  or  proceedings,  but  pri- 
marily they  are  drawn  thither  by  the  deliberate  and  con- 
scious purpose  of  receiving  some  intellectual  or  emotional 


240  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

stimulation.  Such  an  assemblage  is  the  audience  at  a  lec- 
ture, the  crowd  at  a  theatre,  the  congregation  at  a  church. 
In  the  latter,  however  ritualistic  or  informal  may  be  the  serv- 
ice and  however  much  or  little  the  people  may  participate 
in  it,  their  fundamental  purpose  is  to  receive  religious  in- 
spiration, which  they  expect  to  come  chiefly  from  the 
leader.  This  receptive  attitude  is  a  very  significant  factor 
in  the  psychological  situation,  an  important  condition  of 
the  psychical  effects  which  may  be  developed.  It  manifestly 
renders  it  easier  to  bring  about  mental  unity  or  fusion 
than  under  ordinary  conditions.  In  gatherings  of  this  type 
we  may  distinguish  three  stages  of  mental  unity. 

( I )  In  the  primary  stage  the  fusion  is  low  and  there  is  a 
high  degree  of  self-conscious  individuality  in  the  members. 
There  is,  as  already  indicated,  a  certain  degree  of  mental 
unity  due  to  the  local  separateness  of  the  assembly,  to  the 
similarity  of  purpose  in  being  present,  and  to  the  common 
attitude  of  receptivity.  But  this  is  all.  Each  person  is 
self-centred,  and  there  is  little  common  feeling.  The 
critical  faculties  of  each  are  in  the  ascendant,  and  the  words 
and  acts  of  the  speaker  or  leader,  in  so  far  as  they  succeed 
in  securing  attention,  are  coolly  weighed  in  each  auditor's 
mental  balances;  while  the  thoughts  of  those  whose  atten- 
tion has  not  been  secured  are  busily  engaged  with  their 
personal  interests,  or  idly  drifting  according  to  the  laws  of 
association,  or  sinking  toward  the  level  of  drowsy  extinction. 
Perhaps  the  interest  is  keen  but  predominantly  intellectual, 
and  is  thus  of  a  character  to  accentuate  the  individuality  of 
each  and  keep  the  psychic  fusion  at  a  minimum.  But 
whether  there  be  an  exclusively  intellectual  activity,  or  an 
anarchic  wandering  of  the  attention,  or  a  somnolent  relax- 
ation of  consciousness,  there  is  little  common  emotion,  very 
little  blending  of  the  separate  units  into  a  psychical  mass 
in  which  each  realizes  that  his  mental  reactions  coincide 
with  those  of  others.  The  speaker  addressing  such  a  group 
will  feel  that  his  words  are  falling  upon  critical  or  indif- 
ferent or  sleepy  ears. 


ASSEMBLIES  241 

(2)  The  secondary  stage  is  marked  off  from  the  primary 
by  no  hard  and  fast  lines ;  but  is  characterized  by  the  low- 
ered individuality  and  the  increased  mental  fusion  of  the 
personal  units  composing  the  assembly.  The  intellectual 
activity  of  each  is  less  independent  and  autonomous,  is 
more  limited  by  a  common  emotional  state  into  which  all 
have  been  brought.  Emotion  has  a  very  important  in- 
fluence upon  the  activity  of  the  intellect.  Up  to  a  certain 
point  it  stimulates  intellectual  action,  and  beyond  that  point 
hinders  it  more  and  more ;  but  whether  stimulating,  as  in 
its  lower  degrees,  or  inhibitive,  as  in  its  higher  intensities, 
emotion  is  always  directive  of  whatever  intellectual  ac- 
tivities are  going  on;  because  feeling  defines,  if  it  does  not 
determine,  the  line  of  interest,  and  it  is  interest  which  en- 
gages the  intellect.  Consequently  in  a  gathering  in  which 
common  feeling  of  considerable  strength  has  been  developed 
the  individuals  are  partly  blended  into  a  psychical  mass  in 
which  the  one  pervasive  emotion  intensifies  the  conscious- 
ness of  unity  and  orients  the  intellects  of  all  in  a  given 
direction.  The  tendency  to  individualistic  thinking,  i.e., 
thinking  independent  of,  or  diverse  from,  that  of  the  as- 
sembly as  a  whole,  is  to  a  large  extent  inhibited.  Mark 
that  it  is  the  tendency  to  diverse  thinking  that  is  inhibited ; 
the  individual  is  not  conscious  of  the  limitation  which  is 
upon  him.  In  so  far  as  he  is  fused  with  the  others  he 
simply  does  not  tend  to  think  differently  from  the  mass ;  or, 
to  state  it  in  different  words,  to  the  extent  to  which  his  indi- 
viduality has  been  merged  he  feels  no  impulse  to  assert  his 
mental  independence.  He  is  not  aware  that  his  mental  au- 
tonomy is  curtailed. 

But  in  this  stage  the  individuality  of  the  units  has  not 
wholly  disappeared.  The  fusion  is  partial  only ;  a  measure 
of  independence  remains  to  the  average  person.  He  is 
more  suggestible ;  is  more  thoroughly  under  the  influence 
of  the  speaker ;  he  is  less  able  to  recollect  and  utilize  all  the 
resources  of  his  intellect  by  bringing  them  to  bear  upon  what 
is  said  or  proposed.  He  is  less  critical,  more  easily  con- 


242  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

vinced  and  led.  But  his  will  has  not  been  paralyzed;  his 
action  still  represents  his  personality,  though  not  the  out- 
come of  so  thorough  and  deliberate  a  consideration  of  all  the 
issues  involved.  There  are  many  cases  in  which  the  indi- 
vidual has  become  so  thoroughly  subject  to  habit,  so  warped 
in  his  inclinations,  so  biased  in  mental  action  by  long  per- 
sistence in  certain  courses  of  conduct  that  he  is  incapable 
under  ordinary  conditions  of  weighing  with  approximate 
fairness  the  pros  and  cons  of  an  issue  that  involves  those 
habits  and  inclinations.  The  scales  of  his  judgment  are 
loaded;  or  he  sees  the  better  way  but  is  unable  to  choose 
it  when  the  test  comes.  The  habitual  drinker,  the  sensual 
libertine,  the  veterans  of  vice  and  the  victims  of  bad  habits 
in  general  see  the  evil  of  their  ways,  but  have  become  so 
perverted  that  the  reasons  against  indulgence  are  not  effec- 
tive with  them,  but  are  borne  down  and  smothered  by  the 
clamorous  insistence  of  appetite,  which  gives  exaggerated 
force  to  the  considerations  in  favour  of  indulgence.  Fre- 
quently in  these  sad  cases  of  onesided  or  perverted  develop- 
ment it  is  the  contagion  of  the  crowd,  if  it  does  not  reach 
the  point  of  excess,  which,  by  acting  as  an  inhibition  of  these 
vicious  inclinations,  balances  the  man  up  and  gives  his 
rational  nature  a  better  chance  to  assert  itself;  and  by  the 
aid  of  this  influence  he  may  be  able  to  reach  and  fortify 
himself  in  moral  decisions  which  give  a  new  direction  to  his 
life. 

(3)  The  third  stage  of  psychic  fusion  is  reached  when  the 
individuality  of  the  personal  units  has  disappeared ;  or  per- 
haps we  should  say,  when  the  only  elements  of  individuality 
left  to  them  are  the  reflexive  and  instinctive  peculiarities 
of  their  individual  nervous  constitutions,  and  even  these 
may  be  in  part  suspended.  The  modifications  of  their 
emotional  natures  resulting  from  their  intellectual  organ- 
ization have  disappeared.  The  fusion  is  complete.  This  is 
the  mob  state.  The  individual  no  longer  thinks,  reasons, 
chooses.  His  action  does  not  represent  his  personality,  but 
is  simply  his  reflexive  and  instinctive  reaction  under  the 


ASSEMBLIES  243 

powerful  influence  of  the  crowd-suggestion.  He  has 
reached  a  stage  which  is  similar  to,  though  not  identical 
with,  hypnosis.  It  should  again  be  noted  that  he  is  not 
conscious  of  the  limitation  that  is  upon  him;  he  does  not 
realize  that  the  action  of  his  rational  faculties  is  suspended. 
He  simply  does  not  differentiate  himself  in  thought  from 
the  mass.  His  actions  no  more  represent  himself  than  those 
of  the  hypnotic  subject  under  the  influence  of  the  operator. 
Indeed,  his  true  self  is  more  completely  annihilated  for  the 
time.  The  hypnotic  subject  nearly  always  refuses  to  obey 
a  suggestion  which  runs  counter  to  his  instincts  and  deep 
moral  habits.  But  in  the  mob  state  the  personality  is  so 
completely  suspended  that  a  man  may  be  induced  to  do 
things  which  are  in  absolute  contradiction  to  his  self-respect 
and  his  profoundest  moral  convictions.  How  often  is  a 
man  thus  led  to  commit  murder  who  would  be  horrified  at 
the  suggestion  under  ordinary  circumstances  and  would  re- 
sist it  even  in  the  hypnotic  trance !  Not  only  ridiculous 
but  disgraceful  acts  are  sometimes  performed  under  the 
sway  of  the  crowd-suggestion,  the  sense  of  personal  de- 
cency being  lost  in  the  wholesale  collapse  of  the  personality. 
It  is  doubtless  true  that  when  the  psychic  fusion  of  the 
crowd  reaches  its  limit,  it  involves  a  disintegration  of  the 
personality  more  thoroughgoing  than  can  be  accomplished 
by  any  other  known  means,  except  certain  forms  of  dis- 
ease. Of  course,  there  is  no  responsibility,  in  the  ordinary 
sense  of  the  word,  for  the  deed  performed  under  such  con- 
ditions. The  individuals  in  such  a  mass  —  I  speak  only  of 
the  extreme  phenomena  of  this  type  —  are  like  so  many 
leaves  in  a  tornado.  They  are  merely  a  herd  of  cattle  in  a 
panic  or  a  fury  —  except  that  there  is  in  each  one  a  tem- 
porarily paralysed  rational  and  voluntary  power,  which 
may  by  some  means  be  awakened  again  into  activity.  Until 
that  is  done  their  action,  because  of  the  complexity  of  the 
forces  involved,  is  more  incalculable  than  the  shifting  of  the 
wind.  The  mob  may  not  only  do  deeds  that  are  disgraceful 
or  criminal,  but  also  deeds  that  are  chivalrous  or  heroic. 


244  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

And  whether  its  acts  are  despicable,  horrible  or  noble  de- 
pends upon  the  character  of  the  emotion  which  at  any  time 
may  be  in  the  ascendant;  and  as  the  emotions  are  exceed- 
ingly unstable  and  variable,  the  mob's  performances  may 
quickly  shift  from  one  extreme  of  the  moral  scale  to  the 
other ;  yet,  strictly  speaking,  a  mob  is  not  an  ethical  entity 
and  its  acts  are  non-ethical. 

The  passing  of  an  assembly  into  the  second  and  third 
stages  of  unity  may  be  accurately  described  as  a  process  of 
inhibiting  the  intellectual  or  rational  control  of  conduct, 
which  is  accomplished  by  collective  suggestion  in  a  state  of 
high  emotion.  But  the  rational  control  itself  is  essentially 
of  an  inhibitive  character.  The  normal  personality  con- 
sists, first,  of  a  substratum  of  inherited  nerve  co-ordinations, 
reflexive  and  instinctive ;  and,  second,  of  a  system  of  habits 
and  ideas  which  are  the  deposit  of  personal  experience,  plus 
a  certain  inscrutable  and  indefinable  power  of  choice  which 
develops  along  with  the  organization  of  the  mind.  Now, 
the  impulses  of  the  instinctive  nature  are  more  or  less  con- 
trolled by  the  mental  organization  which  is  the  result  of 
individual  experience;  and  this  control  is  exercised  mainly, 
if  not  exclusively,  by  the  arrest  of  many  of  the  conflicting 
impulses  which  originate  in  the  numerous  contacts  with  our 
environment  or  in  our  organic  sensations.  By  the  stopping 
of  some  impulses  the  right  of  way  is  given  to  others,  which 
thus  pass  on  into  realization  as  our  volitions.  In  a  fused 
mass  of  men  the  collective  suggestion  simply  suspends  these 
individual  inhibitive  functions ;  and  in  so  far  as  they  are 
suspended,  the  reflexes  and  instincts  are  left  exposed  to  be 
played  upon  by  the  external  influences  of  the  crowd  or 
mob. 

Now,  these  reflexes  and  instincts  constitute  our  racial  in- 
heritance; they  are  the  parts  of  our  nature  in  which,  not- 
withstanding individual  peculiarities,  we  are  most  nearly 
identical  with  our  fellow  men.  They  are  a  common 
patrimony.  It  is  in  the  mental  systems  built  up  in  personal 
experience  that  we  are  most  widely  differentiated,  and  it  is 


ASSEMBLIES  245 

by  the  inter-stimulation  of  their  common  instincts  and  the 
simultaneous  suppression  or  suspension  of  their  unlike  in- 
tellectual systems  that  men  are  fused  into  a  psychic  mass. 

If  we  should  ask  whether  it  is  more  important  to  stress 
the  common  elements  in  our  human  nature,  to  develop  in 
men  the  consciousness  of  their  community  of  life ;  or  to 
emphasize  their  divergent  variations,  to  make  them  sensible 
of  their  distinctive  individualities,  the  true  answer  would 
be  that  both  should  be  done  in  about  equal  proportions. 
We  are  living  under  conditions  which  promote  a  very  high 
differentiation  of  men,  and  which  at  the  same  time  bring 
the  population  together  in  increasingly  vast  and  dense  com- 
munities and  favour  and  facilitate  the  assembling  of  men 
in  ever  larger  masses.  A  notable  phenomenon  of  urban  life 
everywhere  is  the  building  of  mammoth  auditoriums  for  the 
gathering  of  people  in  great  numbers ;  and  there  is  a  tend- 
ency to  the  enlargement  of  lecture  halls,  theatres  and 
churches.  These  frequent  large  aggregations  of  people,  in 
which,  as  we  shall  see,  collective  suggestion  is  greater  and 
the  units  are  more  readily  fused  than  in  smaller  ones,  con- 
stitute one  of  the  most  effective  means  of  developing  and 
strengthening  the  consciousness  of  the  unity  of  men  in  an 
age  of  high  specialization  of  individuals  and  groups ;  if  only 
the  process  of  psychic  fusion  can  be  kept  from  going  to  the 
excess  which  effaces  the  sense  of  individual  responsibility, 
disintegrates  and  weakens  personality,  and  results  in  hurtful 
collective  action. 

The  first  stage  of  mental  unity  of  the  assembly  is  best 
suited  to  instruction.  The  class  in  the  lecture  room  has  this 
degree  of  unity.  A  certain  measure  of  common  feeling  is 
desirable  as  a  means  of  intellectual  quickening,  but  the 
development  of  the  feeling  beyond  a  low  intensity  should 
be  avoided.  Wherever  the  didactic  purpose  is  the  con- 
trolling one  in  bringing  people  together,  care  should  be 
taken  to  keep  the  assembly  in  the  primary  stage  of  fusion. 
When  the  purpose  is  inspiration  rather  than  instruction, 
aiming  not  at  the  impartation  of  ideas  or  their  correlation. 


246  PSYCHOLOGY   AND  PREACHING 

but  at  the  organization  of  emotional  dispositions  around  cer- 
tain ideas,  the  development  and  strengthening  of  common 
ideals  and  sentiments,  the  secondary  stage  of  fusion  is 
desirable.  Suppose,  for  instance,  that  the  preacher  desires 
to  teach  his  congregation,  to  enlarge  and  improve  their  con- 
ception of  God.  This  can  not  be  done  by  developing  a  tide 
of  emotion  which  puts  limitations  upon  the  actions  of  the 
individual  intellects  and  leads  to  the  uncritical  acceptance 
of  the  ideas  he  imparts.  The  method  should  be  an  appeal 
to  their  individual  rational  powers  with  the  aim  of  produc- 
ing conviction.  On  the  other  hand,  suppose  it  is  his  desire 
to  cultivate  the  sentiment  of  loyalty  to  Christ;  then  he 
should  strive  to  develop  in  connection  with  their  inellectual 
conception  of  Christ  the  appropriate  feeling  of  devotion  to 
him  —  to  organize  in  the  minds  of  his  auditors  a  fixed  cor- 
relation of  certain  emotions  with  their  idea  of  his  character ; 
and  this  involves,  of  course,  strong  and  repeated  stimulation 
of  the  affective  side  of  their  natures.  But  if  the  emotional 
tide  runs  so  high  as  to  submerge  the  intellectual  life  and 
drown  all  definite  ideas  in  its  flood,  the  second  purpose  as 
well  as  the  first  is  wholly  defeated.  No  sentiment  is  then 
developed,  no  ideal  is  established,  but  only  a  thirst  is  created 
for  wild  and  senseless  emotional  intoxication  which  is  dis- 
organizing and  debilitating  in  its  effects  upon  personality. 
The  third  stage  of  psychic  fusion  should,  therefore,  always 
be  avoided. 

But  our  division  of  the  process  of  fusion  into  three  stages 
is  a  logical  one  and  does  not  correspond  to  the  reality,  except 
in  a  general  way.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  while  these  three 
stages  are  in  a  general  way  distinguishable,  the  assembly 
does  not  pass  as  a  whole  from  one  into  the  other.  There 
are  in  it  persons  of  various  degrees  of  suggestibility.  Those 
of  the  greatest  suggestibility  are  the  first  to  suffer  the  arrest 
of  the  intellectual  processes  and  lose  their  individuality, 
while  those  who  are  least  suggestible  maintain  their  mental 
autonomy  until  the  extreme  limit  of  emotional  excitement 
is  reached.  Children,  women  (as  a  rule),  persons  of  limited 


ASSEMBLIES  247 

experience  or  of  loose  mental  organization  are  apt  to  fall 
first  wholly  under  the  spell  of  the  crowd-suggestion ;  but  as 
the  tide  rises  others,  according  to  the  measure  of  their  in- 
experience or  of  the  instability  of  their  mental  organization, 
succumb  to  its  prevailing  power.  It  is  like  cutting  the 
dykes  and  flooding  a  region.  First  the  low  lands,  then  the 
plains,  then  the  up-lands  are  submerged  by  the  rising  waters, 
until  only  the  higher  hills  stand  out  above  the  waves.  It 
is  this  fact  of  greatly  unequal  suggestibility  which  consti- 
tutes a  grave  problem  for  the  leader  of  the  assembly  when 
it  seems  desirable  to  develop  a  considerable  degree  of  emo- 
tional fusion.  That  which  is  necessary  to  stimulate  in  some 
members  of  the  congregation  a  proper  sense  of  their  com- 
munity of  life  with  their  fellows  may  prove  too  powerful  a 
stimulation  of  others;  so  that  while  the  leader  is  accom- 
plishing good  results  in  one  direction  he  is  doing  harm  in 
another.  In  dealing  with  this  aspect  of  the  matter  the 
highest  judgment  and  skill  should  be  exercised  by  those  who 
are  responsible.  Especially  does  this  apply  to  the  preacher. 
In  order  to  awaken  the  consciences  of  some  and  create  in 
them  a  thrill  of  spiritual  affection,  the  children,  the  weaker 
women,  and  the  ill-balanced  men  may  be  led  into  demonstra- 
tions which  are  not  only  meaningless  but  permanently  hurt- 
ful. Discriminating  wisdom  and  a  thorough  understanding 
of  psychological  laws  are  needed  by  men  who  are  making 
religious  appeals  to  promiscuous  assemblies. 

Doubtless  nobody  can  maintain  himself  wholly  inde- 
pendent of  the  contagion  of  the  crowd.  But  the  strong 
personalities  of  the  resistant  or  aggressive  type  can  in  some 
measure  retain  their  self-possession  even  in  extreme  sit- 
uations. Such  strong  personalities  may  even  prevail  against 
the  contagion  and  break  the  spell  which  threatens  to  swamp 
the  individualities  of  all.  If  there  be  several  such  persons 
in  the  crowd  their  natural  impulse  will  be  to  get  together, 
so  that  they  may  reinforce  one  another  in  their  common 
resistance  and  form  a  more  effective  breakwater  against  the 
tidal  wave.  In  doing  this,  however,  they  will  inevitably 


248  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

develop  a  considerable  measure  of  mental  unity  among 
themselves,  so  as  to  act  concertedly;  their  reaction  against 
the  contagious  influence  forces  them,  to  some  extent,  into 
psychical  fusion  with  one  another.  They  are  much  more 
able  to  stem  the  general  tide  when  close  together  and  acting 
as  a  unit  than  when  scattered  throughout  the  crowd  as  iso- 
lated centres  of  resistance.  It  is  another  case  "  of  united 
we  stand,  divided  we  fall."  But  if  there  is  a  considerable 
number  of  such  persons,  and  they  come  together  so  as  to 
form  a  distinct  group,  there  is  always  danger  that  the  as- 
sembly will  develop  into  two  opposing  groups,  each  of  which 
will  be  under  the  sway  of  the  mob-mind  —  forming  a  sort 
of  double-headed  mob.  This  not  unfrequently  happens,  and 
then  it  is  that  irrational  violence  reaches,  perhaps,  its 
maximum.  On  the  other  hand,  if  such  persons  remain 
scattered  throughout  the  crowd  and  from  several  centres 
undertake  to  resist  the  contagion  and  break  up  the  unity 
by  interruptions  and  counter-demonstrations  of  any  sort, 
the  situation  is  likely  to  become  one  of  extreme  agitation; 
the  intellectual  process  will  be  inhibited  in  all,  partially  if 
not  wholly;  but  the  only  emotion  which  will  be  dominant 
will  be  confused  excitement,  and  there  will  be  what  may 
be  called  a  chaotic  crowd.  In  such  a  situation  one  part 
of  the  fusion  process  takes  place  —  the  inhibition  of  the 
rational  process.  All  individualities  are  reduced  to  a  com- 
mon denominator,  but  that  is  only  a  powerful,  though  vague, 
agitation  caused  by  psychical  cross-currents ;  and  in  no  other 
sense  does  mental  unification  take  place. 

We  should  turn  now  to  consider  the  means  and  methods 
by  which  the  process  of  fusion  may  be  promoted. 

The  first  is  the  close  crowding  of  the  people.  Bodily 
I' proximity  of  a  group  of  persons  renders  the  passing  of  in- 
fluences from  one  to  another  much  more  rapid  and  easy. 
Slight  movements,  subtile  and  fleeting  changes  of  counte- 
nance are  more  readily  observed,  and  the  ideas  and  feelings 
of  which  they  are  the  expression  are  more  surely  and 
rapidly  communicated.  Wide  separation  tends  to  produce 


ASSEMBLIES  249 

mental  isolation  and  the  peculiarities  of  the  mental  indi- 
viduality become  relatively  more  prominent.  The  equal- 
izing and  levelling  effect  of  the  interaction  of  the  individuals 
is  reduced  about  in  proportion  to  the  distances  which  sep- 
arate them.  When  they  are  thinly  scattered  about  the  place 
of  assembly  it  is  more  difficult  to  focus  their  attention  upon 
the  same  idea  or  to  start  a  general  current  of  feeling. 

We  should  guard  carefully  against  the  fallacious  notion 
that  there  passes  from  one  to  another  and  envelops  the 
whole  crowd  a  subtile  fluid  or  ethereal  substance.  We  are 
prone  to  interpret  the  facts  in  such  materialistic  terms. 
There  is  not  the  slightest  reason  to  believe  that  anything  of 
the  kind  takes  place.  Let  us  also  put  a  question  mark  after 
another  notion  which,  though  plausible,  is  equally  unsup- 
ported by  facts.  It  has  been  maintained  that  in  the  fusing 
of  individuals  into  a  crowd  there  comes  into  existence,  by  a 
process  of  "  creative  synthesis,"  a  new  psychical  entity,  a 
"  social  mind."  *  But  there  is  no  convincing  reason  for 
supposing  that  anything  more  takes  place  than  the  modifica- 
tion and  common  orientation  of  many  distinct  minds  through 
their  reaction  on  one  another.  What  we  know  takes  place 
is  the  communication  of  ideas,  feelings,  mental  attitudes  by 
means  of  their  physical  expression,  which  we  instinctively, 
or  by  habitual  skill,  read  with  lightning-like  rapidity,  and 
which  modifies  the  activity  of  each  communicating  mind. 

The  crowding  of  people  promotes  the  fusion  in  other  ways. 
The  bodily  movements  of  all  are  thus  limited.  They  can 
not  shift  their  positions,  change  their  physical  attitudes, 
turn  about,  stretch  out  their  limbs,  etc.  This  has  the  effect 
of  lessening  their  sense  of  individuality  in  two  ways.  First, 
the  similarity  of  their  bodily  attitudes,  together  with  their 
inability  to  vary  them  without  difficulty,  reacts  upon  their 
mental  states,  tending  to  give  them  unity  of  mental  attitude. 
Second,  the  physical  restraint  tends  to  depress  the  self-feel- 
ing. Sidis  says:  "  If  anything  gives  us  a  strong  sense  of 

1  See  Boodin  on  "  The  Existence  of  Social  Minds,"  American 
Journal  of  Sociology,  July,  1913. 


250  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

our  individuality  it  is  surely  our  voluntary  movements. 
.  .  .  Conversely  the  life  of  the  individual  self  sinks, 
shrinks  with  the  decrease  of  variety  and  intensity  of  volun- 
tary movements." x  Ross,  quoting  the  foregoing  words, 
adds :  "  Often  a  furious,  naughty  child  will  suddenly  be- 
come meek  and  obedient  after  being  held  a  moment  as  in  a 
vise.  On  the  play-ground  a  saucy  boy  will  abruptly  sur- 
render and  '  take  it  back '  when  held  firmly  on  the  ground 
without  power  to  move  hand  or  foot.  The  cause  is  not  fear 
but  deflation  of  the  ego." 2  Crowding,  then,  appears  to 
promote  the  spread  of  ideas  and  feelings,  the  bringing  of  all 
individuals  to  a  common  state  of  mind,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
the  lowering  of  the  self-feeling  or  the  sense  of  individuality ; 
and  is  thus  one  of  the  chief  means  of  merging  many  sepa- 
rate and  differentiated  personalities  into  one  psychical  mass. 
A  second  important  means  of  accomplishing  the  same  re- 
sult is  concerted  bodily  movement.  Just  as  the  necessity 
of  keeping  the  body  in  the  same  attitude  or  position  by 
reason  of  close  crowding  has  the  tendency  to  induce  mental 
unity  in  a  group,  so  does  the  performance  of  the  same  act  at 
the  same  time  by  all  the  persons  present.  If  all  stand  or  leap 
or  shout  or  kneel  or  hold  up  the  right  hand  or  bend  for- 
ward or  sing  or  repeat  a  formula,  or  do  anything  else 
which  may  occur  to  the  leader,  it  develops  a  consciousness 
of  oneness  and  breaks  up  the  personal  isolation  in  which  the 
sense  of  individuality  is  at  a  maximum.  One  reason  why 
the  prevention  of  bodily  movements  by  crowding  furthers 
the  fusion  process  is  that  persons  widely  separated  in  a 
gathering  will  move  individually  without  respect  to  the 
movements  of  others,  and  this  keeps  alive  the  sense  of  indi- 
viduality, whereas  the  same  movements,  if  performed  by  all, 
would  have  the  opposite  tendency.  An  expert  leader,  when 
he  is  seeking  to  develop  mental  unity  and  solidarity  in  an 
assembly,  will  always  insist  upon  "  all  joining  in  "  whatever 
concerted  action  he  proposes.  If  some  refuse  to  participate 

1 "  Psychology  of  Suggestion,"  p.  289. 
2 "Social  Psychology,"  p.  44. 


ASSEMBLIES  25 1 

it  manifestly  obstructs  the  unifying  process,  while  if  all 
take  part  the  unifying  effect  is  very  great. 

It  is  upon  this  one  means  of  inducing  mental  unity  that 
ritualistic  bodies,  whether  churches  or  lodges,  chiefly  rely; 
but,  although  its  whole  tendency  is  in  that  direction,  the 
ritualistic  method  is  not  so  well  adapted  to  produce  intense 
effects  as  the  non-ritualistic.  And  the  reason  doubtless  is 
that  the  formulae  and  concerted  actions  required  by  the 
rituals  are  not,  as  a  rule,  such  as  to  stir  intense  emotions, 
and  that  their  frequent  repetition  takes  off  the  keen  edge  of 
the  feelings  which  they  do  excite.  In  non-ritualistic  bodies 
concerted  action  is  used  more  effectively  as  a  means  of 
fusion  because  prescribed  formulae  are  not  employed,  and 
the  common  movements  suggested  in  informal  exercises  are 
not  fixed  and  habitual,  but,  being  unusual  or  at  least  infre- 
quent, are  more  stimulating  to  the  emotions.  When  used 
in  connection  with  other  means  to  the  same  end  they  gener- 
ally secure  a  more  complete  submergence  of  the  individuality 
than  ever  occurs  in  ritualistic  observances.  Hence  the 
phenomena  of  psychical  fusion  are  observed  much  more 
frequently  and  are  much  more  striking  in  bodies  which  use 
a  minimum  of  prescribed  ritual.  In  fact  the  ritual,  by  rea- 
son of  its  habitual  or  customary  character,  tends  to  prevent 
more  than  a  moderate  degree  of  mental  fusion. 

Singing,  especially  if  it  is  congregational,  is  a  quite  effec- 
tive means  of  melting  the  assembled  individuals  into  a 
psychical  mass.  Its  effectiveness  lies  both  in  the  fact  that 
it  is  concerted  action  and  in  its  power  as  a  stimulus  of  the 
emotions.  By  reason  of  its  rhythmical  quality  it  is  one 
of  the  most  natural  expressions  of  the  feelings,  and  con- 
versely, one  of  the  most  unfailing  means  of  arousing  feel- 
ing. This  is  true  even  when  the  music  is  devoid  of  idea- 
tional  content.  The  rhythmical  sounds  alone  develop 
corresponding  effects,  according  to  their  length  and  com- 
bination. "  A  short  musical  unit  tends  to  light,  vivacious, 
or  joyful  effects,  irrespective  of  the  rapidity  of  succession 
of  notes  or  of  the  melodic  intervals  employed.  A  unit 


252  PSYCHOLOGY   ATSTD  PREACHING 

which  "  draws  out "  the  specious  present  [i.e.,  the  span  of 
consciousness]  slightly  beyond  the  normal  length  produces 
a  sombre  effect.  A  still  longer  unit  which  is  divided  between 
two  not  long  spans  of  consciousness,  gives  an  effect  which 
is  solemn  but  not  sad."  1  But  in  all  songs  there  are  ideas 
which  are  organized  with  appropriate  emotions  into  definite 
sentiments,  and  which  greatly  contribute  to  the  emotional 
effect  when  the  music  is  suitable.  There  is,  therefore,  no 
surer  and  easier  way  to  develop  mental  contagion  than  to 
have  a  gathering  of  people  join  in  singing.  But  for  this 
purpose  much  depends  upon  the  character  of  the  music  and 
the  ideas  of  the  song.  The  rhythm  of  the  music  must 
correspond  to  the  rhythm  of  the  simpler  feelings,  and  the 
ideas  must  be  correspondingly  simple.  "  In  music  of  the  so- 
called  intellectual  sort  there  is  no  regular  relation  between 
the  musical  unit  and  the  span  of  consciousness ;  the  unity 
here  is  intentionally  ideational  and  does  not  appeal  to  the 
average  hearer."2  In  such  music  the  emphasis  is  placed 
upon  the  intellectual  processes  of  appreciation,  and  this 
tends  to  prevent  complete  fusion.  Who  has  not  observed 
the  difference  between  the  hymns  and  tunes  used  in  Sunday 
Schools  and  evangelistic  meetings,  on  the  one  hand,  and 
those  used  in  "regular  churches  services,"  on  the  other? 
In  a  word,  to  be  most  effective  in  producing  fusion  the  sing- 
ing must  be  such  as  strongly  stimulates  those  elements  of  our 
mental  life  which  we  have  in  common  with  our  fellow  men 
rather  than  those  elements  in  which  we  are  most  highly 
differentiated.  Since  children  and  youths  are  undeveloped 
men  and  women,  they  represent  that  which  is  most  generic 
in  human  nature;  and  that  is  the  reason  why  songs  of  the 
same  general  type  are  best  adapted  to  use  in  the  Sunday 
School,  in  evangelistic  meetings  and  in  all  gatherings  where 
a  high  degree  of  mental  unity  is  sought  for.  It  is  hardly 
possible  to  overestimate  the  value  of  our  patriotic  songs, 
our  ballads  which  are  expressions  of  the  more  universal  sen- 
iDunlap,  "A  System  of  Psychology,"  p.  312.  2Ibid.,  p.  313. 


ASSEMBLIES  253 

timents  of  love  and  longing  and  our  more  popular  religious 
hymns,  as  means  of  developing  and  maintaining  a  sense  of 
community  of  life  with  our  fellow  men. 

Mental  fusion  may  also  be  promoted  by  imaginative,  pas- 
sionate oratory.  If  a  speaker  has  intense  feeling  himself, 
is  gifted  with  the  power  of  conveying  his  ideas  and  emo- 
tions by  means  of  concrete  and  vivid  images  and  dramatic 
action,  it  is  often  possible  for  him  without  the  aid  of  other 
means,  and  sometimes  even  when  other  influences  are 
adverse,  to  convert  a  cold  and  critical  audience  into  a  highly 
fused  and  suggestible  crowd.  Doubtless  there  is  not  on 
record  a  more  signal  demonstration  of  the  power  of  sheer 
oratory  to  overcome  psychological  difficulties  than  the 
triumph  of  Henry  Ward  Beecher  in  England  in  1863.  In 
his  defence  of  the  policy  of  the  North  in  the  great  Civil 
War,  he  faced  every  time  a  coldly  critical  and  largely  hostile 
gathering  of  Britishers.  He  was  interrupted  from  the  be- 
ginning by  questions,  taunts,  insults,  rotten  eggs  and  all 
those  intimidating  methods  in  which  British  audiences  excel. 
As,  despite  those  violent  attempts  to  silence  him,  his  mag- 
nificent patience,  self-possession  and  good  humour,  rein- 
forced by  a  matchless  imaginative  and  histrionic  power,  won 
over  sections  of  the  throng,  the  desperation  of  his  opponents 
increased ;  and  they  redoubled  their  efforts  to  break  up  the 
mental  unity  which  they  felt  to  be  growing,  but  without 
avail;  and  always  in  the  end  he  remained  master,  though 
his  mastery  was  not  always  equally  complete.  He  had  only 
one  condition  in  his  favour  —  the  close  crowding  of  his 
audiences.  Of  course,  when  all  other  conditions  are  fa- 
vourable, the  task  of  the  orator  is  comparatively  easy.  For 
example,  when  Mr.  Bryan  made  his  remarkable  address  at 
the  National  Democratic  Convention  in  Chicago  in  1896, 
nearly  all  the  psychological  conditions  were  in  his  favour. 
There  was,  to  be  sure,  an  opposing  group  in  the  convention, 
but  they  were  in  a  decided  minority ;  and  the  debate  which 
his  address  concluded  had  stirred  intense  feeling.  He  was 
the  magnetic  and  eloquent  voice  of  the  majority;  his  sen- 


254  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

tences,  made  rhythmical  by  his  own  emotion,  and  the  mas- 
terly use  he  made  of  imagery  which  associated  his  cause 
with  some  of  the  deepest  and  most  powerful  sentiments  of 
our  human  hearts,  developed  a  tide  of  emotion  which  set 
the  convention  wild  (perhaps  literally)  and  overwhelmed 
his  oppenents.1 

We  should  turn  now  to  a  consideration  of  the  kinds  of 
emotion  which  are  most  effective  in  welding  heterogeneous 
individuals  into  a  homogeneous  crowd.  These  are  to  be 
found  among  the  emotions  which  are  embedded  most  deeply 
in  the  instincts  of  human  nature.  When  aroused  they  are 
the  most  powerful,  the  most  pervasively  contagious  and  the 
most  difficult  to  control. 

First,  we  may  consider  fear,  which  in  the  psychology 
books  is  generally  mentioned  as  the  first  of  the  simple  emo- 
tions. How  powerful  it  is,  how  completely  in  its  intense 
developments  it  paralyses  reason,  how  thoroughly  sug- 
gestible it  renders  its  subject  —  or  victim  —  needs  no  dem- 
onstration or  illustration.  Every  man's  experience  fur- 
nishes numerous  examples  of  its  power  to  upset  the  rational 
processes.  When  a  group  of  people  are  seized  by  this  emo- 
tion and  it  is  intensified  by  reflection  from  face  to  face,  or 
by  screams  and  shrieks,  it  quickly  overwhelms  reason  and 
conscience,  and  all  other  emotions  as  well,  in  its  turbid  flood ; 
and  men  are  converted  into  maddened  beasts,  each  of  whom 
seeks  only  his  own  safety.  While,  therefore,  it  annihilates 
the  higher  individualizing  factors  of  the  several  personalities 
and  fuses  them  in  the  sense  that  they  are  all  reduced  to  a 
like  mental  state  which  is  intensified  by  reflection  from  one 
to  another,  it  desocializes  them,  so  to  speak;  it  deadens  the 
social  instincts  of  each  and  so  has  a  certain  disintegrating 
effect.  This  is  especially  notable  in  panics.  It  reduces  the 
individuals  to  a  common  denominator,  but  that  common  de- 
nominator is  an  impulse  to  take  care  of  self  without  regard 
to  others.  There  is  no  emotion  which,  when  it  gains  ex- 
clusive sway,  is  so  absolutely  demoralizing.  And  yet  when 
1  See  Scott's  "  Psychology  of  Public  Speaking,"  pp.  165-6. 


ASSEMBLIES  255 

it  is  refined  and  moralized,  kept  under  the  control  of  intel- 
ligence and  conscience,  it  becomes  a  worthy  motive.  When 
dominated  by  conscience,  blended  with  love  and  transfigured 
into  reverence,  it  becomes  one  of  our  noblest  sentiments. 
In  this  regenerated  form  it  retains,  though  in  a  much  lower 
degree,  its  fusing  power  and  may  be  most  properly  used 
by  the  orator  or  preacher.  But  in  its  baser  form  of  physi- 
cal fear  it  should  never  be  appealed  to  by  one  who  aims  at 
spiritual  results. 

Another  emotion  which  is  most  effective  in  welding  a 
crowd  is  anger.  This  is  one  of  the  most  powerful  emotions, 
and  all  normal  persons  are  capable  of  it,  although  there  are 
great  variations  in  the  development  of  the  pugnacious  in- 
stinct among  men.  When  a  common  hostile  feeling  against 
any  object  is  aroused  in  a  group  of  persons,  its  power  to 
unify  and  blend  them  is  unsurpassed.  The  heat  of  the 
anger  which  envelops  them  all  melts  them  into  conscious 
oneness,  and  the  conscious  unity  is  considerably  strength- 
ened by  the  sense  of  conflict  with  the  person  or  persons 
against  whom  the  hostility  is  directed;  for  conflict  with  an 
outside  enemy  is  a  very  efficacious  means  of  unifying  the 
members  of  a  group.  This  is  the  emotion  that  usually 
sways  a  mob.  Elsewhere  we  have  pointed  out  how  it  may 
convulse  a  whole  neighbourhood,  or  section,  or  nation,  in- 
stantly quieting  or  suspending  all  internal  antagonisms,  and 
solidifying  all  interests.  Here  we  consider  it  only  as  it  de- 
velops and  manifests  itself  in  an  assembled  multitude.  It 
is  so  easily  aroused,  is  so  intensified  by  reflection  back  and 
forth  between  individuals,  and  so  quickly  overwhelms  reason 
that  only  extreme  situations  will  justify  appeals  to  it. 
There  is  always  great  danger  of  inducing  the  mob-state,  if 
not  mob-action.  But  while  its  crude  form  is  always  de- 
moralizing and  the  orator,  especially  the  preacher,  should 
rarely  or  never  make  an  appeal  to  it,  it  may,  nevertheless, 
like  fear,  be  redeemed  and  transformed  by  being  moralized, 
and  thus  converted  into  one  of  the  noblest,  most  healthful 
and  valuable  of  all  human  feelings  —  indignation ;  and  thus 


256  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

by  continual  association  with  our  ethical  principles  may  be 
organized  into  a  sentiment  of  hatred,  not  for  men,  but  for 
all  conduct  that  is  low  and  selfish.  The  development  of  this 
sentiment  is  one  of  the  great  tasks  of  the  preacher.  Even 
in  this  higher  form  the  emotion  of  anger  is  a  potent  means  of 
fusing  a  crowd ;  and  the  ability  to  stir  the  moral  indignation 
of  an  audience  has  been  a  chief  element  of  power  of  many 
great  orators,  and  should  be  cultivated  by  all  preachers. 

What  writers  on  psychology  call  "  the  tender  emotion  " 
is  another  which  is  powerful  as  a  means  of  melting  an  as- 
sembly of  heterogeneous  individuals  into  a  homogeneous 
psychical  mass.  The  forms  in  which  it  is  most  serviceable 
to  the  orator  are  the  love  of  parents  for  their  children,  the 
love  of  children  for  their  mothers  (the  love  for  fathers  tak- 
ing rather  the  form  of  reverence),  the  love  of  men  and 
women  for  little  children,  and  the  compassion  which  all 
normal  people  feel  for  the  unfortunate,  the  weak  and  the 
helpless  victims  of  injustice.  In  a  general  way  the  order  of 
mention  indicates  the  order  in  which  forms  of  the  tender 
emotion  have  historically  developed  in  power.  It  is  prob- 
able that  the  last  three  have  only  in  comparatively  recent 
times  attained  to  approximate  universality  as  powerful 
sentiments,  though  now  one  can  rarely  be  found  who  is  not 
susceptible  to  these  appeals.  Such  appeals  may,  of  course, 
be  overdone,  but  they  rarely  produce  unhealthy  psychological 
effects.  Persons  of  weak  intellectual  organization  may 
easily  be  overcome  and  thrown  into  a  mental  state  from 
which  no  rational  action  can  be  expected.  This,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  not  un frequently  happens  in  "  high  pressure  "  evan- 
gelistic services,  when  the  danger  of  failing  to  meet  one's 
mother  in  heaven  is  urged  too  strongly  as  a  motive  for  con- 
secrating oneself  to  Christian  service.  But  in  general  these 
sentiments  are  so  pure,  so  free  from  intermixture  with  the 
grosser  passions  of  our  nature,  that  they  rarely  produce 
excessive  or  demoralizing  effects.  They  always  tend  to  in- 
cite men  to  courses  of  action  which  they  believe  to  be 
good;  and  when  the  appeal  to  them  is  overdone,  the  cor- 


ASSEMBLIES  257 

rection  is  usually  found  in  the  disgust  which  it  excites  in  the 
minds  of  all  normal  people.  The  orator  whose  motives  are 
pure  but  whose  judgment  is  not  discriminating,  may,  of 
course,  make  an  unfortunate  use  of  this  emotion,  but  it  can- 
not be  used  as  a  means  of  promoting  a  cause  that  is  mani- 
festly bad.  If  the  preacher  fails  to  make  an  extensive 
(though,  of  course,  discriminating)  use  of  it,  he  will  cer- 
tainly not  only  fail  on  many  occasions  "  to  carry  his  au- 
dience with  him,"  but  will  also  fail  to  do  what  he  might  in 
the  ethical  education  of  the  people. 

The  sentiment  of  liberty,  which  has  its  basis  in  the  in- 
stinct of  self-assertion,  or  the  self-asserting  disposition,  is 
of  increasing  importance  in  modern  life  as  a  social  force; 
and  when  skilfully  appealed  to  is  capable  of  producing 
strong  emotional  effects.  The  fundamental  trend  in  society 
is  toward  democracy,  which  in  the  last  analysis  has  its 
genesis  in  the  individualizing  tendency  of  the  social  process. 
It  can  not  be  finally  resisted,  and  can  be  retarded  only 
by  slowing  down  the  social  process,  which  normally  becomes 
more  dynamic  all  the  time  ;  and  hence  the  sentiment  of  liberty 
continually  grows  more  powerful.  The  conception  of  liberty 
is  modified  from  epoch  to  epoch ;  but  the  modifications 
are  in  the  direction  of  increasing  depth  and  breath.  Men  do 
not  crave  less  liberty  but  more ;  though,  on  the  whole,  their 
idea  of  it  is  less  confused  with  license  and  more  consistent 
with  stable  social  order,  in  which  alone  it  can  be  realized. 
The  emotion,  therefore,  which  may  be  evoked  by  a  skilful 
appeal  to  this  sentiment  will  always  be  strong,  and  powerful 
as  a  means  of  fusing  an  audience ;  but  will  not  lend  itself  so 
readily  to  the  development  of  the  mob-mind.  When  the 
conception  of  liberty  is  chiefly  negative,  the  appeal  to  this 
sentiment  in  its  crude  stage  is  apt  to  produce  excesses,  be- 
cause it  awakens  the  impulse  to  unregulated  self-indulgence 
and  arouses  anger  at  the  social  forces  which  limit  one's  in- 
dividual action  —  unchaining  "emotions  that  are  primal, 
basal,  crude  and  undisciplined.  This  is  the  true  psychology 
of  the  French  Revolution  and  of  similar,  though  less  in- 


258  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

tense,  social  convulsions  in  other  lands.  When  the  concep- 
tion of  liberty  is  positive,  men  may  be  deeply  stirred  by 
appeals  to  their  desire  for  self-realization;  but  in  this  case 
the  sentiment  is  more  highly  developed,  and  the  emotions 
called  forth  are  of  a  higher  order,  more  ethical  and  amenable 
to  rational  considerations.  As  the  impulse  to  unregulated 
living  has  been  replaced  by  the  desire  for  self-realization, 
so  the  emotion  evoked  by  appeal  to  this  sentiment  has  been 
transformed  into  moral  enthusiasm.  In  religion  the  pas- 
sion for  liberty  grows  stronger  every  day;  but  it  does  not 
seek  satisfaction  so  much  as  formerly  by  blatant  denial  of 
religious  verities  and  the  contemptuous  ridicule  of  the  re- 
ligious sentiments  so  characteristic  of  the  "  infidels  "  of  the 
last,  and  especially  of  the  eighteenth,  century.  On  the  con- 
trary, it  is  more  and  more  clearly  perceived  that  true  re- 
ligious liberty  is  found  in  the  interpretation  of  the  universe 
as  religious  and  the  voluntary  acceptance  of  the  law  of  God 
as  supreme.  The  appeal  to  this  sentiment  by  the  preacher 
receives  a  deep  emotional  response  which  is  rationally  con- 
trolled and  profoundly  ethical. 

I  shall  mention  but  one  more  of  the  emotional  dispositions 
which  are  available  to  the  orator  as  specially  efficacious 
means  of  unifying  and  mastering  an  audience.  That  is  the 
sentiment  of  conservatism  or  attachment  to  that  which  is 
old.  It  has  its  base  in  the  conservative  disposition,  which 
was  once  nearly  all-powerful.  But  the  rapidly  changing 
conditions  of  modern  life  have  greatly  weakened  it,  and 
must  weaken  it  yet  more.  Indeed,  our  life  has  become  so 
varied  and  changeful  that  some  people  are  in  danger  of  fall- 
ing victims  to  the  passion  for  novelty.  The  stimulation  of 
change  has  become  a  habit  with  them  and  forms  the  basis 
of  a  craving  for  the  continual  repetition  of  the  sensation 
which  the  unexpected  produces.  That  is  the  only  sort  of 
repetition  which  they  will  endure.  But  notwithstanding  this 
tendency,  the  attachment  to  the  old  and  the  customary  still 
retains  a  strangely  potent  sway  over  the  average  human 
mind.  Through  long  ages  the  monotonous  conditions  of 


ASSEMBLIES  259 

life  and  the  consequent  persistence  of  modes  of  life  from 
generation  to  generation  have  wrought  into  the  very  struc- 
ture of  the  human  mind  a  regard  for  old  things  as  old  which 
probably  can  never  be  wholly  eliminated,  and  which  doubt- 
less it  would  not  be  wise  to  eradicate  entirely.  But  with 
most  men  it  is  so  deeply  ingrained  and  so  thoroughly  dom- 
inating that  an  adroit  appeal  to 'it  has  always  been  able  to 
evoke  an  emotion  which  paralyses  reason,  drowns  the  voice 
of  conscience,  obstructs  human  progress  and  makes  martyrs 
of  the  beneficent  innovators  of  the  race.  It  has  been  power- 
ful in  all  spheres  of  life,  in  one,  perhaps,  as  much  as  in 
another;  but  in  no  sphere  certainly  has  it  been  more  freely 
utilized  than  in  religion  as  a  means  of  converting  reasonable 
people  into  mobs  and  hurling  them  in  furious  masses  against 
men  who  dared  to  question  the  truth  and  sacredness  of  tra- 
ditional dogmas  and  practices.  By  it  have  all  the  prophets 
been  slain  —  and  the  cry  which  it  has  always  inspired  is 
"  the  prophets  are  dead." 

Now,  the  passion  for  the  new  as  such  is  not  sufficiently 
developed  in  a  sufficiently  large  number  of  people  to  make  it 
effective  as  a  means  of  crowd-fusion,  except  under  very  ex- 
traordinary circumstances,  if  ever.  It  may,  indeed,  become 
a  passion  and  render  one  irrationally  intolerant  of  the  old ; 
but  the  new  always  appeals  to  curiosity  and  awakens  intel- 
ligence, in  some  measure  at  least,  and  for  that  reason  is  not 
adapted  to  the  development  of  the  mob-mind.  But  as  a  pas- 
sion it  renders  one  irrational  in  his  dislike  of  the  old,  and 
should  never  be  appealed  to  by  an  orator  whose  motives  are 
good.  On  the  other  hand,  the  passion  for  the  old  as  such 
is  so  strong  in  such  a  large  proportion  of  the  people  and  is 
so  violent  when  inflamed,  that  the  conscientious  orator  — 
and  especially  the  preacher  —  should  never  put  the  lighted 
torch  of  eloquence  to  that  magazine  of  explosive  emotion. 
Such  an  appeal  is  non-rational  and  should  never  be  made. 
It  is  often  easy  enough  to  convert  an  audience  into  a  mob 
by  such  an  appeal  skilfully  made ;  but  the  use  of  it  at  once 
raises  the  suspicion  either  of  sinister  design  which  is  not 


260  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

scrupulous  as  to  method,  or  of  desperation,  born  of  con- 
scious inability  to  carry  one's  point  by  the  appeal  to  reason. 

In  the  light  of  the  foregoing  discussion  a  question  of  very 
great  importance  demands  an  answer:  Is  the  process  of 
psychic  fusion  conducive  to  genuine  religious  experience? 
A  categorical  and  unquaHfied  answer  can  not  be  given  with- 
out conflict  with  the  facts.  High  pressure  revivals  do  result 
in  the  improvement  of  the  lives  of  some  persons;  but  it  is 
quite  certain  that  they  result  in  an  equally  permanent  de- 
moralization and  spiritual  depreciation  of  other  lives  —  just 
as  we  should  expect.  Not  a  few  people  have  become  so 
utterly  perverted  in  the  moral  habits  contracted  in  their  in- 
dividual experience,  and  so  abnormally  subject  to  grossly 
evil  impulses,  that  a  powerful  counter-stimulation  of  their 
emotional  nature  is  necessary  in  order  that  better  impulses 
may  have  any  chance  at  all  to  influence  their  choices.  But, 
of  course,  there  is  always  danger,  when  this  counter-stimula- 
tion is  applied  through  the  collective  emotion  of  the  crowd, 
that  the  reason  of  the  person  in  question,  as  well  as  that  of 
others,  will  be  so  paralysed  that  the  resulting  action  will 
not  represent  choice  at  all;  and  then  there  is  every  reason 
to  believe  that  the  effect  upon  character  is  demoralizing,  and 
only  demoralizing.  The  moral  pervert  returns  to  his  wal- 
lowing in  the  mire,  and  his  last  state  is  worse  than  the  first ; 
and  meanwhile  others  who  are  more  normal  and  who  are 
swept  by  the  same  tide  of  irrational  emotion  into  false  pro- 
fessions and  relations  are  religiously  "  queered  "  for  the  rest 
of  their  lives.  It  is  probable,  however,  that  a  moderate  de- 
gree of  emotional  fusion  is  usually  helpful  in  religious  expe- 
rience. It  is  quite  possible  that  men  in  their  individual 
experience  have  acquired  habits  or  inclinations  which,  in 
part,  render  them  inaccessible  to  spiritual  influences.  In 
other  words,  there  may  be  wrought  into  the  elements  that 
differentiate  them  from  others  dispositions  or  tendencies 
which  render  them  unresponsive  to  the  spiritual  call.  It 
would  seem,  then,  that  the  fusion  process  by  which  the 
differential  elements  of  their  personalities  are  reduced  in 


ASSEMBLIES  26l 

strength  might,  if  not  carried  to  an  excess  which  obliterates 
their  reason,  render  them  to  some  extent  more  open  to  divine 
influences.  We  have  stated  it  as  a  possibility,  but  can  it  not 
be  safely  asserted  as  a  universal  fact  that  each  man  does 
acquire  in  individual  experience  some  peculiar  attitude  of 
mind,  or  mode  of  thought,  or  point  of  view  —  a  mental  trait 
of  some  kind  or  other  —  which  forms  an  obstruction  to  the 
forces  of  moral  regeneration  ?  If  this  be  true  —  and  it  is  en- 
tirely consonant  with  the  teaching  of  psychology  —  the  con- 
clusion is  that  a  moderate  degree  of  mental  fusion  is  nor- 
mally conducive  to  genuine  religious  experience,  especially 
in  the  case  of  adults. 

2.  Something  should  be  said  in  conclusion  about  the  de- 
liberative body.  Manifestly  this  is  an  assembly  of  a  distinct 
psychological  type.  It  is  at  the  farthest  possible  remove 
from  the  accidental  concourse;  and  the  individuals  compos- 
ing it  are  drawn  together  for  the  definite  purpose,  not  of 
receiving  some  intellectual  or  emotional  stimulation,  but  of 
taking  part  in  discussion  and  contributing  each  his  part  to- 
ward a  collective  decision  of  certain  issues.  This  gives 
them  a  special  attitude  of  mind,  which  largely  determines 
the  character  of  the  mental  processes  of  the  body.  So  long 
as  this  attitude  is  maintained  the  suggestibility  of  each  is 
reduced  to  a  minimum;  his  critical  faculties  are  in  the  as- 
cendant. But  how  shall  this  attitude  be  preserved  ? 

(i)  In  the  first  place  it  is  much  easier  to  maintain  the 
deliberative  attitude  if  the  assembly  is  a  small  one.  The 
reasons  are  obvious.  The  greater  the  number  of  persons 
between  whom  a  common  feeling  is  reflected  back  and  forth, 
the  more  intense  becomes  the  emotion.  A  dozen  people  who 
read  in  each  other's  faces  the  same  impulse  or  sentiment 
will  each  be  proportionately  affected;  if  a  thousand  people 
see  the  same  feeling  reflected  in  each  other's  countenances, 
each  is  again  proportionately  affected,  though  one  qualifying 
condition  must  be  taken  into  account,  viz.,  that  each  will 
be  more  powerfully  affected  by  those  near  him  than  by  those 
more  distant,  because  he  discerns  more  clearly  the  bodily 


262  PSYCHOLOGY   AND  PREACHING 

expressions  of  their  mental  states  and  hence  receives  a  more 
definite  and  powerful  stimulation  from  them.  After  an 
assembly  passes  a  certain  magnitude  it  no  longer  increases 
in  general  suggestibility  strictly  in  proportion  to  its  size; 
but  up  to  a  certain  point  it  does  approximately.  Again,  in 
a  large  assembly  the  people  are  more  likely  to  be  closely 
seated,  and  the  effect  of  physical  crowding,  as  before  noted, 
is  to  facilitate  the  rapid  spread  of  common  feeling  in  full 
power  in  all  directions.  Furthermore,  the  speaker  who  ad- 
dresses a  large  gathering  must  use  higher  tones  of  voice  and 
will  normally  make  more  vigorous  gestures,  from  the  natural 
desire  to  be  adequately  seen  and  heard.  But  the  more 
elevated  tones  and  the  freer  gesticulatory  movements  natu- 
rally excite  stronger  feelings  in  the  audience  and  react  upon 
the  speaker's  own  mind  to  intensify  his  emotion,  which  in 
turn  is  communicated  to  his  hearers. 

The  assembly,  then,  when  it  becomes  very  large  is  almost 
certain  to  lose  its  deliberative  character,  wholly  or  in  part; 
and  to  assume  the  character  of  a  mass-meeting  which  is  sub- 
ject to  the  spell  of  a  few  orators  who  have  exceptional 
voices,  and  to  be  swept  by  gusts  of  intense,  pervasive  emo- 
tion. As  a  result  it  is  customary  for  the  real  deliberations 
of  such  a  body  to  take  place  in  committee  rooms;  and  the 
decisions  reached  in  these  small  groups  are  reported  to  the 
assembly  and  advocated  by  persuasive  orators,  who  usually 
secure  their  ratification.  A  very  potent  argument  often 
presented  in  favour  of  such  a  committee  report  is  that  the 
committee  has  had  amply  opportunity  to  think  the  whole 
subject  through  from  every  point  of  view  —  a  tacit  confes- 
sion that  the  psychological  situation  renders  it  impracticable 
for  the  assembly  as  a  whole  to  do  so.  Since  the  trend  in  re- 
cent times  is  toward  large  assemblies  of  the  deliberative  type, 
as  of  others,  the  tendency,  as  might  be  expected,  is  toward 
the  formulation  in  committee  rooms  of  the  deliverances  of 
such  bodies.  If,  therefore,  these  assemblies  are  to  be  what 
their  name  indicates,  if  the  fusion  process  which  increases 
suggestibility  and  renders  careful  thought  difficult  or  im- 


ASSEMBLIES  263 

possible  is  to  be  avoided,  the  bodies  should  be  kept  small; 
otherwise  the  deliberation  will  have  to  be  done  exclusively 
by  committees,  while  the  assembly  is  turned  into  a  mere 
ratification  mass-meeting. 

(2)  But  the  deliberative  assembly,  even  when  small,  needs 
special  safeguards  against  the  tendency  to  fusion.  These 
special  safeguards  are  found  in  the  rules  of  parliamentary 
practice  —  rigid  conventional  methods  of  procedure  espe- 
cially fashioned  to  hold  individual  as  well  as  collective  im- 
pulses in  check  and  to  give  free  play  to  the  rational  processes. 
When,  however,  the  emotions  are  powerfully  stimulated 
these  artificial  devices  for  restraint  snap  like  weak  cords; 
and  the  president,  together  with  the  rest  of  the  assembly,  is 
swept  along  in  the  irresistible  current.  Or  if  the  body  de- 
generates into  a  double-headed  mob  or  into  a  chaotic  crowd, 
the  gentleman  who  holds  the  gavel  may  "  lose  his  head,"  i.e., 
his  intellectual  processes  may  be  inhibited,  and,  being  caught 
in  the  cross-currents  of  emotion,  he  may  be  tossed  about  like 
a  cork  on  the  choppy  waves. 

If,  however,  the  assembly  avoids  the  emotional  storms 
and  maintains  the  calmness  of  dispassionate  thought,  the  ef- 
fect of  rational  discussion  will  be  to  modify  the  thinking 
of  each  individual ;  and  so  there  will  appear  most  likely  a 
distinct  tendency  toward  unity  of  thought.  This  is  implied 
in  the  very  function  of  such  a  body,  which  is  to  reach  and 
render  a  collective  decision.  The  stronger  minds,  while 
being  more  or  less  modified  in  their  positions,  will  be  able  to 
lead  the  weaker  ones  and  thus  chiefly  determine  the  evolu- 
tion of  the  collective  conclusion.  Usually  the  discussion  will 
result  in  the  cleavage  of  the  assembly  into  two  or  more  par- 
ties around  two  or  more  leaders,  or  groups  of  leaders;  in 
which  case  the  two  processes  of  unification  and  division  go 
on  at  the  same  time.  But  unless  the  whole  process  is  to  end 
in  a  deadlock,  the  unification  must  proceed  until  a  majority 
of  the  members  have  been  brought  to  substantial  agreement. 
The  intellectual  unity,  or  unity  of  conviction,  results  from 
the  give  and  take  of  debate  and  is  an  organization  of  many 


5264  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

varied  and  at  first  conflicting  opinions;  and  is  an  entirely 
different  sort  of  thing  from  the  unity  which  is  induced  by  the 
inhibition  of  free  rational  processes  and  the  emotional 
fusion  of  individuals. 

It  is  true,  however,  that  the  method  of  reaching  collective 
or  group  decisions  is  undergoing  a  profound  change.  That 
change  is  the  result  of  the  enormous  development  of  inter- 
communication. Now-a-days  the  discussion  of  questions  in 
which  a  large  body  of  people  are  interested  is  carried  on  in 
the  press,  and  the  people  reach  their  conclusions  on  the  basis 
of  their  reading,  supplemented  by  correspondence  and  pri- 
vate conversation,  for  which  the  increasingly  numerous  per- 
sonal contacts  of  modern  life  afford  a  large  opportunity. 
The  result  is  that  the  deliberative  assembly,  so-called,  is  com- 
ing to  be  less  and  less  an  organ  of  collective  discussion  and 
deliberation,  and  more  and  more  a  means  of  simply  register- 
ing the  decisions  of  the  group.  At  the  same  time  it  is  not- 
able that  the  deliverances  of  such  assemblies  no  longer  im- 
press the  people  with  the  sense  of  authority  and  finality, 
as  they  did  in  the  days  in  which  they  were,  far  more  than 
they  now  are,  the  organs  through  which  the  public  made  up 
its  mind.  The  tendency  is  to  bring  such  bodies  more  di- 
rectly under  the  control  of  public  opinion  —  to  revise,  criti- 
cise and  perhaps  nullify  their  acts  more  freely  in  the  larger 
forum  of  the  press,  in  which  the  people  are  assembled  not  in 
body  but  in  mind.  It  is  a  singular  paradox  that  along  with 
the  vast  growth  and  complication  of  social  organization  the 
direct  control  by  the  people  of  their  affairs  is  growing  at 
the  expense  of  the  indirect  method.  Legislative  and  quasi- 
legislative  bodies  of  every  description,  in  all  spheres  of  life, 
are  compelled  to  act  more  and  more  as  the  mere  registering 
organs  of  the  public  will  and  to  refer  their  acts  back  to  the 
people  for  their  approval  or  disapproval. 


CHAPTER  XII 

MENTAL   EPIDEMICS 

THE  term  "  epidemic  "  has  been  so  closely  associated  with 
morbid  phenomena  of  a  certain  type  that  one  hesitates  to  use 
it  to  designate  the  class  of  mental  experiences  here  to  be 
discussed.  But  the  lack  of  a  better  word  will  justify  its  use. 

A  mental  epidemic  is  the  sweep  of  a  common  emotional 
excitement  over  a  whole  social  group.  The  group  may  be  a 
neighbourhood,  a  city,  a  nation,  a  party,  a  sect,  a  class,  a  sex, 
or  any  other  well  defined  and  relatively  permanent  segment 
of  the  population  which  has  some  common  interest  and  some 
means  of  frequent  intercommunication.  Through  such  a 
group  are  all  the  time  flowing  mental  currents  which  main- 
tain its  unity  of  thought  and  feeling  and  its  collective  indi- 
viduality. Without  such  a  constant  flow  of  ideas  and  senti- 
ments the  group  would  disintegrate,  just  as  the  physical  or- 
ganism would  decompose  if  the  circulation  of  the  blood  were 
to  stop.  However,  the  term  mental  epidemic  is  not  applied 
to  the  regular  processes  by  which  mental  unity  is  maintained, 
but  only  to  those  waves  of  emotion  which  give  the  people  a 
more  intensive  unity  than  the  ordinary. 

There  are  two  broad  classes  of  mental  epidemics  between 
which  the  distinction  should  be  emphasized.  As  in  a  crowd 
the  fusion  may  be  more  or  less  complete,  and  injurious  or 
healthy  accordingly,  so  the  mental  unity  induced  in  the 
larger  group  may  be  only  what  is  necessary  to  insure  con- 
certed and  vigorous  action  under  the  control  of  intelligence ; 
or  it  may  become  so  passionate,  so  overwhelming  in  emo- 
tional intensity,  as  to  be  demoralizing  even  when  the  excite- 
ment centres  about  some  unobjectionable  or  really  important 
interest.  To  the  more  intense  forms  of  such  excitement  the 
terms,  "  popular  mania  "  or  "  craze,"  should  be  applied.  It 

265 


266  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

is,  of  course,  impossible  to  draw  a  hard  and  fast  line  be- 
tween normal  and  abnormal  phenomena  of  this  type ;  but  the 
distinction  is  nevertheless  one  of  great  practical  importance, 
for  in  general  it  coincides  with  the  distinction  between 
healthy  and  unhealthy  group  action. 

The  phenomena  to  which  the  term,  "popular  mania,"  is 
applied  are  common  emotional  states  which  are  intense 
enough  to  stop  in  large  measure,  if  not  wholly,  the  rational 
processes.  The  people  become  "  wild."  The  reader  who 
lived  in  a  certain  section  of  the  South  during  the  epoch  of 
the  land  booms  along  in  the  eighties  of  the  last  century  can 
recall  typical  experiences  of  this  kind.  A  land  company 
would  be  organized  and,  by  advertisement  far  and  wide, 
would  "  boom  "  a  village  or  town  as  destined  in  a  short  time 
to  become  a  great  city.  The  enthusiasm  would  spread  with 
astonishing  rapidity.  Conservative,  cool-headed  sceptics, 
who  could  see  no  real  basis  for  such  extravagant  expecta- 
tions, were  ridiculed  as  old  fogies,  or  denounced  as  "  kick- 
ers "  who  were  indifferent  or  unfriendly  to  the  interests  of 
the  community.  Streets  were  opened  through  old  fields  or 
thick  forests  —  traces  of  some  of  them  remaining  to  this 
day  as  visible  relics  of  the  craze  of  a  third  of  a  century  ago. 
Building  lots  were  sold  at  high  figures  over  areas  large 
enough  to  contain  the  population  of  a  metropolis;  and  the 
purchasers  saw  fortunes  in  these  investments.  In  a  little 
while  the  crest  of  the  wave  of  excitement  passed;  the 
shrewder  ones  began  to  unload.  Scepticism  spread  rapidly, 
and  one  by  one  the  boom  bubbles  burst,  leaving  many  people 
sadder  and  wiser. 

As  illustrative  of  the  extreme  irrationality  which  may 
characterize  such  phenomena  the  tulip  mania  in  Holland  has 
been  frequently  referred  to.  Sidis  *  relates  the  story  as  fol- 
lows :  "  About  the  year  1634  the  Dutch  became  suddenly 
possessed  with  a  mania  for  tulips.  The  ordinary  industry  of 
the  country  was  neglected,  and  the  population,  even  to  its 
lowest  dregs,  embarked  in  the  tulip  trade.  The  tulip  rose 

1 "  The  Psychology  of  Suggestion,"  pp.  343-345. 


MENTAL   EPIDEMICS  267 

rapidly  in  value,  and  when  the  mania  was  in  full  swing  some 
daring  speculators  invested  as  much  as  one  hundred  thou- 
sand florins  in  the  purchase  of  forty  roots.  The  bulbs  were 
as  precious  as  diamonds ;  they  were  sold  by  their  weight  in 
perils,  a  weight  less  than  a  grain."  ..."  Many  speculators 
grew  suddenly  rich.  The  epidemic  of  tulipomania  raged 
with  intense  fury,  the  enthusiasm  filled  every  heart,  and 
confidence  was  at  its  height.  A  golden  bait  hung  tempt- 
ingly out  before  the  people,  and  one  after  another  they 
rushed  to  the  tulip  market  like  flies  around  a  honey  pot. 
Every  one  imagined  that  the  passion  for  tulips  would  last 
forever,  and  that  the  wealthy  from  every  part  of  the  world 
would  send  to  Holland  and  pay  whatever  prices  were  asked 
for  them.  The  riches  of  Europe  would  be  concentrated  on 
the  shores  of  the  Zuyder  Zee.  Nobles,  citizens,  farmers, 
mechanics,  seamen,  footmen,  maid-servants,  chimney-sweeps 
and  old-clothes  women  dabbled  in  tulips.  Houses  and  lands 
were  offered  for  sale  at  ruinously  low  prices,  or  assigned  in 
payment  of  bargains  made  at  the  tulip  markets.  So  conta- 
gious was  the  epidemic  that  foreigners  became  smitten  with 
the  same  frenzy,  and  money  poured  into  Holland  from  all 
directions. 

"  The  speculative  mania  did  not  last  long ;  social  suggestion 
began  to  work  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  a  universal 
panic  suddenly  seized  on  the  minds  of  the  Dutch.  Instead 
of  buying  every  one  was  trying  to  sell.  Tulips  fell  below 
their  normal  value.  Thousands  of  merchants  were  utterly 
ruined,  and  a  cry  of  lamentation  arose  in  the  land."  This 
description,  doubtless,  is  too  highly  wrought,  but  well  illus- 
trates the  absurdities  into  which  a  people  of  average  intel- 
ligence can  be  precipitated  by  the  all-pervasive  sweep  of 
mental  contagion. 

Among  epidemics  of  the  extreme  type,  which  we  have 
called  manias,  are  to  be  classed  financial  panics,  speculative 
crazes,  extravagant  religious  revivals,  popular  terrors  such 
as  the  "  great  fear  "  which  swept  over  France  in  the  year 
1789;  and  every  form  of  emotional  excitement  that  may 


268  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

obsess  groups  of  people,  and,  by  upsetting  the  control  of  rea- 
son, lead  to  absurdity,  folly  and  even  immorality  of  conduct. 
Among  the  less  extreme  and  quite  healthy  types  belong  gen- 
uine religious  revivals,  which  are  never  irrational  and  always 
ethical ;  educational  enthusiasms ;  popular  indignation  at  po- 
litical corruption,  such  as  not  long  since  swept  the  United 
States;  agitations  against  gross  miscarriages  of  justice,  such 
as  stirred  the  French  people  and  the  whole  world  in  con- 
nection with  the  celebrated  Dreyfus  case;  and  I  should  in- 
clude also  a  war  spirit  which  is  inspired  by  genuine  patriot- 
ism or  devotion  to  liberty  and  justice,  though  it  may  easily 
degenerate  into  an  epidemic  of  the  unhealthy  type.  In  gen- 
eral it  may  be  said  that  popular  excitements  which  have 
their  origin  in  the  stimulation  of  the  higher  sentiments 
nearly  always  give  the  population  a  common  orientation  to- 
ward healthy  action ;  and,  unless  corrupted  by  some  baser 
emotion  and  degraded  from  their  ethical  character,  cannot 
leave  behind  them  the  moral  devastation  always  found  in  the 
wake  of  the  more  extreme,  irrational  and  unethical  types 
of  mental  epidemics.  Even  the  Crusades  are  not  an  excep- 
tion to  this ;  for  while  there  was  much  extravagant  absurdity, 
from  the  modern  point  of  view,  connected  with  them,  they 
were  motived  by  the  highest  sentiment  of  which  the  peo- 
ple of  that  day  were  capable. 

I.  We  should  bear  in  mind  that  mental  epidemics  are  the 
result  of  two  fundamental  processes  which  are  present  in 
all  social  action.  First,  the  like  response  to  stimuli  by  like- 
minded  persons.  People  of  a  similar  mental  organization 
respond  in  similar  ways  to  the  same  stimuli ;  people  of  un- 
like mental  organization,  respond  to  the  same  stimuli  in  dif- 
ferent ways.  We  have  no  other  way  of  measuring  their 
mental  likeness  and  unlikeness.  This  is  too  obvious  to  re- 
quire any  elaboration.  The  second  process  is  the  communi- 
cation of  mental  states  from  one  to  another.  This  process  is 
not  so  simple  in  the  phenomena  we  are  now  discussing  as  it 
is  in  assemblies.  The  group  as  a  whole  does  not  assemble, 
though  the  assembling  of  small  companies  within  the  general 


MENTAL   EPIDEMICS  269 

group  may  be  an  important  part  of  the  process ;  and  personal 
contacts  in  the  ordinary  affairs  of  life  are  also  included  in  it. 
Travellers  moving  from  place  to  place  are  important  chan- 
nels through  which  ideas  and  emotions  are  spread  abroad. 
In  present-day  society,  books,  magazines  and  especially  news- 
papers play  a  very  great  part  in  generalizing  ideas  and  bring- 
ing all  the  minds  in  a  group  to  a  common  state  of  feeling. 

While  these  two  processes  are  both  always  present  and 
effective  in  bringing  about  mental  unity  in  a  group,  it  is  not 
easy  in  many  cases  to  determine  their  relative  importance ; 
though  sometimes  it  is  possible  to  say  with  certainty  that  the 
one  or  the  other  is  the  predominant  factor.  For  instance, 
in  the  common  terror  inspired  by  an  earthquake  shock  we 
are  sure  that  the  chief  cause  is  the  like  response  to  the  same 
stimulus,  though  communication  of  feeling  from  one  to  an- 
other is  by  no  means  an  inconsiderable  factor.  On  the  other 
hand,  enthusiasm  for  a  political  candidate  is  likely  to  be 
mainly  a  matter  of  communication,  and  yet  if  the  candidate 
is  a  well-known  man  of  striking  personality  the  other  factor 
may  be  the  chief  one.  In  the  spread  of  an  emotion  by  read- 
ing the  same  books  and  periodicals  it  might  at  first  appear 
that  a  like  response  to  the  same  stimulus  is  the  sole  explana- 
tion, but  a  closer  consideration  will  show  that  the  other 
process  is  going  on  here  also.  The  emotions  of  the  one 
who  is  setting  forth  the  ideas  or  relating  the  events  are  in- 
tensified by  the  mental  image,  however  vague  it  may  be,  of 
the  multitudes  whom  he  is  addressing  in  this  indirect  way. 
In  fact  the  multitudes  are,  in  image,  present  to  his  con- 
sciousness. Likewise  the  reader's  emotions  are  intensified 
by  the  more  or  less  vague  consciousness  of  the  multitudes 
of  other  readers  whose  feelings  are  also  being  stirred.  Com- 
munication of  emotion  takes  place  here,  too.  It  is  an  ideal 
communication  but  is  none  the  less  real.  In  studying  the 
mental  epidemic,  it  is  well  to  bear  in  mind  that  each  process 
plays  a  more  or  less  important  part  in  it,  and  their  rela- 
tive importance  may  have  considerable  significance  in  its 
proper  interpretation. 


2/O  PSYCHOLOGY   AND  PREACHING 

II.  We  can  hardly  claim  to  be  able  as  yet  to  state  the 
"  laws "  of  mental  epidemics.  Such  phenomena  are  too 
complex,  the  factors  entering  into  them  are  too  many  and 
various  to  permit  of  accurate  analysis ;  and  yet  it  is  possible 
to  formulate  some  of  the  characteristics  of  them  which  are 
so  universal  that  it  is  hardly  straining  language  to  call  them 
laws. 

I.  They  are  wave-like.  They  increase  in  intensity,  reach 
a  maximum  pitch  and  gradually  die  away.  This,  as  we 
know,  is  a  general  characteristic  of  feeling.  Collective  emo- 
tions are  rhythmical,  just  as  the  emotions  of  the  individ- 
ual. The  waves,  of  course,  are  of  very  unequal  height  and 
length,  according  to  the  nature  of  the  interests  in  connec- 
tion with  which  they  appear  and  the  complex  and  sometimes 
obscure  conditions  which  give  rise  to  them.  The  popular 
excitement  may  run  its  course  in  a  day  or  in  a  few  days,  or 
it  may  persist  for  weeks  or  months.  And  within  a  wave  of 
great  length  are  always  included  briefer  rhythms,  or  shorter 
waves  of  greater  intensity.  When  a  popular  mood,  or  long 
persisting  trend  of  collective  emotion,  is  in  the  ascendant, 
any  incident  or  suggested  idea  in  line  with  it  finds  open  and 
uncritical  minds,  and  the  emotional  impulse  connected  with 
this  idea  or  incident  is  reinforced  by  the  full  power  of  the 
general  current  of  feeling.  If  the  idea  or  incident  is  a 
highly  exciting  one  —  and  it  will  always  be  more  exciting 
under  these  than  under  other  conditions  —  the  result  will  be 
a  temporary  intensifying  of  the  prevailing  emotion.  We 
may  speak  of  the  general  or  longer  wave  as  primary  and  the 
shorter  one  as  secondary.  For  example,  in  the  first  stage  of 
the  great  war  the  majority  of  the  people  of  the  United  States 
were  under  the  sway  of  a  decided  anti-German  feeling;  but 
during  this  time  several  incidents  of  a  highly  exciting  nature 
occurred.  Particularly  was  this  true  of  the  sinking  of  the 
great  steamer,  Lusitania.  These  incidents  superinduced 
what  I  have  called  secondary  waves  of  extraordinary  in- 
tensity. On  the  other  hand,  any  suggestion  which  runs 
counter  to  the  prevailing  current  will  be  ineffective,  or  at  any 


MENTAL  EPIDEMICS  27! 

rate  much  weakened  in  force,  until  the  dominant  emotion 
has  spent  itself.1 

2.  Each  wave  of  collective  emotion  is  followed  by  a  re- 
action in  the  opposite  direction.     Times  of  depression  fol- 
low times  of  elation.     Periods  of  sensuous  enjoyment  alter- 
nate with  periods  of  moral  contrition  and  severity.     After 
the  laxity  of  Charles  I  and  his  court  came  the  rigours  of 
puritanism,  and  after  this  had  run  its  course  came  the  resto- 
ration of  the  corrupt  court  of  Charles  II  and  the  reopening 
of  the  flood-gates  of  carnality.     The  panic  and  the  specu- 
lative fever  chase  each  other.     It  is  hard  to  say  what  is  the 
cause  of  the  reaction ;  but  it  is  a  general  fact. 

3.  Two  powerful  popular  emotions  can  not  occur  at  the 
same  time.     This  is  obviously  true  if  the  emotions  are  op- 
posite, or  antagonistic  to  one  another;  if  one  prevails  it  in- 
hibits the  another.     It  is  also  true  when  the  two  are  not  op- 
posite but  only  different,  i.e.,  are  concerned  with  different 
interests.     For  instance,  before  the  world  war  broke  out 
the  people  of  the  United  States  were  mildly  excited  about 

1  A  caution,  perhaps,  needs  to  be  observed  if  we  are  not  to  enter- 
tain a  false  conception  of  these  "waves."  We  are  using  a  material 
image,  and  this  may  lead  us  to  think  of  these  waves  as  continuous 
states  of  ^  feeling ;  but  it  will  be  well  for  us  to  remember  that  in  such 
"waves  "  of  popular  emotion  no  individual  is  throughout  its  dura- 
tion in  a  continuous  state  of  the  characteristic  feeling.  Each  per- 
son has  recurrent  states  of  feeling  with  regard  to  the  particular 
interest  which  is  for  the  time  dominant,  as  his  attention  is  from 
time  to  time  directed  to  it;  but  naturally  this  occurs  often,  and 
hence  he  has  a  frequent  recurrence  of  the  characteristic  feeling. 
Obviously  he  can  not  be  thinking  and  feeling  about  that  particular 
interest  all  the  time ;  and  there  are,  doubtless,  times  of  greater  or 
less  length  when  no  single  individual  in  the  group  is  in  that  par- 
ticular state  of  feeling  —  for  instance,  they  may  all  be  asleep. 
The  use  of  the  phrase,  "  wave  of  popular  feeling,"  means  simply 
that  for  a  period  of  some  length  a  large  proportion  of  the  people 
are  having  frequently  recurring  states  of  feeling  of  a  certain  type. 
It  is  true,  however,  that  there  does  persist  during  such  a  period  of 
mental  epidemic  an  unusual  susceptibility  to  the  stimuli  which  arouse 
that  particular  type  of  feeling. 

Neither  should  we  think  of  a  wave  of  popular  feeling  as  an 
emotional  experience  of  a  great  mind  over  and  above  particular 
persons.  There  is  no  over- individual  social  mind;  but  there  are  in- 
dividual social  minds,  i.e.,  individual  minds  are  social. 


272  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

conditions  in  Mexico ;  but  after  the  excitement  incident  to 
the  great  war  seized  upon  the  public  mind  of  America  the 
Mexican  situation,  although  gravely  accentuated  and  im- 
periling important  interests  of  this  country,  attracted  little  at- 
tention and  caused  hardly  a  thrill  of  emotion.  One  cannot 
reasonably  expect  a  great  wave  of  religious  feeling  to  sweep 
a  community  during  a  period  of  deep  and  pervasive  political 
excitement.  Why  is  this  ?  Perhaps  it  is  clue,  in  part,  to  the 
fact  that  people  at  any  given  time  have  only  a  certain  amount 
of  energy.  At  any  rate,  whatever  may  be  the  ultimate  ex- 
planation, the  human  mind  normally  tends  to  centralize  and 
unify  its  activity ;  some  interest  comes  to  be  for  a  time  dom- 
inant, and  around  it  both  the  intellectual  and  emotional  activ- 
ities are  organized. 

4.  These  excitements  spread  along  lines  of  mental  ho- 
mogeneity, of  common  interest  and  frequent  contact.  This  is 
an  obvious  and  inevitable  consequence  of  the  fact  before 
pointed  out  that  they  result  partly  from  a  similar  response  of 
like-minded  people  to  the  same  stimuli ;  and  partly  from  the 
communication  of  ideas  and  feelings  from  one  to  another. 

III.  What  are  the  general  conditions  which  are  favour- 
able to  the  occurrence  of  mental  epidemics? 

I.  A  large  uncultured  population.  By  an  uncultured 
population  is  meant  people  who  are  ignorant,  uneducated; 
people  who  have  had  but  a  limited  and  monotonous  experi- 
ence, and  people  of  low  mental  organization.  Among  these 
classes  an  excitement  of  any  kind  which  strongly  stimulates 
the  instincts  will  spread  rapidly.  As  this  large  number  are 
swept  into  the  psychical  vortex  the  suction  becomes  very 
powerful.  Minds  of  a  higher  order  are  drawn  in.  As  the 
swirl  of  the  engulfing  current  thus  widens,  it  looses  from 
their  moorings  minds  that  are  yet  more  securely  anchored  in 
reason ;  and  so  goes  on  spreading  until  the  steadiest  intellects 
become  dizzy  and  normal  thinking  and  acting  become  all  but 
impossible.  If  there  were  but  a  small  proportion  of  people 
of  inferior  intelligence  the  current  could  not  attain  sufficient 
force  to  disturb  the  mental  equilibrium  of  the  leaders.  To 


MENTAL   EPIDEMICS  273 

change  the  figure,  the  multitude  of  easily  influenced  minds 
constitute  so  much  highly  inflammable  material  which  a 
very  little  spark  will  ignite,  and  as  the  flames  spread  struc- 
tures which  are  well  fortified  against  fire  are  irresistibly  en- 
veloped in  the  general  conflagration.  We  must  not  forget 
that  all  men  are  in  some  measure  suggestible,  and  as  the  vol- 
ume of  suggestion  increases  it  subdues  one  after  another 
the  more  highly  organized  and  independent  minds  in  the  re- 
verse order  of  their  stability.  A  multitude  of  weak  minds 
reacting  upon  one  another  and  intensifying  their  common 
excitement  can  upset  the  rational  processes  of  a  stronger 
mind  on  which  they  individually  would  have  but  an  insig- 
nificant influence.  Herein  lies  the  chief  danger  of  a  mental 
epidemic.  It  is  always  likely  to  result  in  the  reversal  of 
the  normal  social  process  —  the  leadership  of  the  stronger 
minds ;  and  so,  in  group  action,  it  usually  means  the  domina- 
tion of  intelligence  by  instinct. 

2.  A  mental  epidemic  may  occur  among  a  people  of  good 
intelligence  if  the  suggested  idea  which  starts  the  excite- 
ment is  such  that  their  past  experience  furnishes  no  stand- 
ard by  which  it  can  be  critically  tested.  It  should  be  kept 
in  mind  that  all  people  are  highly  suggestible  as  to  matters 
that  lie  beyond  the  range  of  their  experience;  though  even 
under  this  condition  all  are  not  equally  suggestible,  because, 
apart  from  temperamental  predispositions  which  may  have 
something  to  do  with  one's  responsiveness  to  suggestions, 
there  is  in  such  a  case  no  obstruction  to  the  suggestion  ex- 
cept the  cautious  and  critical  disposition  of  mind  which  may 
have  had  its  origin  in  past  experience.  This  critical  mental 
attitude  implies  a  somewhat  varied  experience  and  consider- 
able reflection,  and  not  a  large  proportion  of  any  popula- 
tion is  likely  to  have  acquired  it.  It  does  not,  therefore, 
prove  to  be  a  very  serious  obstruction  to  the  general  accept- 
ance of  the  idea  which  generates  the  contagious  emotion. 
The  people  generally  being  unable  to  judge  critically  the  sug- 
gestions which  thus  lie  outside  of  the  range  of  their  knowl- 
edge, and  not  having  acquired  the  critical  capacity  which  en- 


274  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

ables  them  to  maintain  an  attitude  of  scepticism  on  general 
principles,  are  without  the  means  of  protecting  themselves 
against  the  emotional  tide.  This  is  a  purely  negative  condi- 
tion and  of  itself  does  not  furnish  an  adequate  explana- 
tion of  a  mental  epidemic ;  but  it  is  of  great  practical  impor- 
tance because  it  gives  antopen  opportunity  for  positive  causes 
to  work  unhindered.  We  may  in  this  way  account  in  large 
part  for  the  town  booms  in  the  South,  referred  to  above. 
The  southern  people  could  not  be  fairly  called  unintelligent ; 
but  their  civilization  had  been  for  the  most  part  of  the  rural 
type ;  they  were  not  acquainted  with  the  conditions  and  laws 
of  modern  industrial  development  and  had  had  little  expe- 
rience in  city-building.  Much  was  said  about  that  time  of  the 
vast  natural  resources  of  their  section  of  the  country;  they 
were  just  awakening  to  the  realization  that  their  land  must 
inevitably  attract  large  investments  of  capital.  And  so,  lack- 
ing the  experience  and  knowledge  which  would  have  given 
them  a  better  appreciation  of  the  time-element  always  neces- 
sary in  the  development  of  a  great  industrial  civilization, 
their  imaginations  saw  their  towns  expanding  as  by  magic 
into  vast  cities  within  a  decade,  while  shrewd  land  agents, 
themselves  partly  under  the  spell  of  the  contagion,  painted 
glowing  pictures  of  the  rise  of  factories,  the  influx  of  pop- 
ulation and  the  fat  fortunes  which  awaited  those  who  in- 
vested early  in  town  lots. 

3.  Positive  conditions  also  may  be  found  in  the  experi- 
ence of  a  people,  which  may  have  been  such  as  to  predispose 
them  to  accept  without  question  suggestions  of  a  certain 
kind. 

Consider,  for  instance,  the  "  Great  Fear  "  that  obsessed 
the  minds  of  the  French  people  in  the  months  of  July  and 
August,  1789.  A  report,  originating  nobody  knew  where, 
that  the  king  was  going  to  send  brigands  among  the  people 
to  rob  them,  was  readily  believed,  and  the  cry,  "  The  brig- 
ands are  coming!  "  was  enough  to  cast  a  spell  of  terror  over 
a  neighbourhood.  A  predisposing  cause  of  the  uncritical  ac- 
ceptance of  the  idea  was  clearly  the  fact  that  the  people  had 


MENTAL   EPIDEMICS  275 

learned  by  sad  experience  that  they  had  little  to  expect  from 
their  government  but  oppression  and  exploitation.  Other 
predisposing  conditions  were  doubtless  also  present ;  but  the 
state  of  mind  resulting  from  the  well-known  selfishness  and 
brutality  of  the  ruling  classes  was  certainly  a  chief  factor 
in  the  situation. 

Indeed,  collective  moods,  if  the  expression  may  be  al- 
lowed, are  very  important  predisposing  conditions.  Often 
they  are  manifestly  the  result  of  the  experience,  especially 
the  cumulative  result  of  repeated  experiences,  of  a  people 
who  have  suffered  under  special  conditions.  A  succession 
of  experiences  of  the  same  general  tendency  is  likely  to  pro- 
duce a  state  of  abnormal  mental  irritability,  an  attitude  of 
mind  expectant  of  similar  experiences,  a  disposition  to  inter- 
pret in  that  sense  any  occurrence  which  by  any  possibility 
can  be  so  construed.  A  man  whom  a  series  of  misfortunes 
has  befallen  is  predisposed  to  accept  the  slightest  intimation 
that  further  adversities  are  impending ;  and  the  man  who  has 
had  a  run  of  good  fortune  is  equally  easy  to  be  convinced 
that  the  fickle  goddess  will  continue  to  smile  upon  him ;  and 
this  is  as  true  of  a  whole  population  as  it  is  of  an  individual. 
In  this  way  may  be  developed  what  I  have  called  a  collective 
mood,  or  a  general  trend  of  expectancy,  which  renders  the 
people  so  affected  highly  suggestible  along  that  line. 

The  predisposing  conditions  may  be  due  to  profound  and 
extensive  social  changes.  In  such  times  the  institutions  of 
society  which  once  satisfied  the  needs  of  the  people  cease 
to  do  so ;  but  they  persist  and  become  formalized,  fossilized. 
Men  feel  that  in  and  through  these  institutions  they  are  no 
longer  satisfactorily  adjusted  to  one  another.  The  masses, 
and  also  many  of  the  higher  and  finer  spirits,  become  restless 
and  discontented,  but  few  even  of  the  latter  clearly  perceive 
where  the  trouble  lies  and  still  less  clearly  the  proper 
course  to  take  for  its  correction.  No  longer  attached  in 
their  hearts  to  the  existing  forms  and  institutions ;  feeling 
deeply  the  need  of  new  principles  and  adjustments,  and  being 
unable  of  themselves  to  discover  the  principles  and  bring 


276  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

about  the  adjustments,  the  masses  of  the  people  are  ex- 
tremely suggestible  and  yield  readily  to  the  appeal  of  a 
strong  leader  who  comes  proposing  a  definite  principle  and 
program.  The  great  movements  which  have  lifted  the 
world  to  higher  moral  and  spiritual  levels  have  generally  had 
their  origin  in  and,  in  part  certainly,  owe  their  prevalence  to 
such  conditions.  These  movements  are  initiated  by  some 
great,  dominating  personality,  or  group  of  personalities ; 
but  master  first  the  "common  people  "  and  through  them 
finally  prevail.  Christianity  itself  thus  arose  and  spread; 
and  thus  the  great  reforms  of  Christianity  have  been  ac- 
complished. The  common  people  heard  Jesus  gladly.  To 
the  common  people  did  Savonarola,  Huss,  Wyckliff,  Lu- 
ther, Wesley,  and  many  others,  make  their  appeal.  Thus  re- 
forms in  other  religions  have  been  achieved.  Thus  modern 
democracy  won  the  day  —  Hampden,  Washington,  Lincoln, 
as  well  as  the  great  democratic  leaders  of  this  generation, 
found  their  support  among  the  common  people.  Along  this 
road  the  beneficent  reforms  of  the  present  hour  are  march- 
ing to  victory.  Upon  the  common  people  the  mighty  men 
who  lead  the  way  to  better  things  must  lean  for  support. 

The  everlasting  tendency  is  for  institutionalized  culture  to 
become  unresponsive  to  the  living  needs  of  humanity.  At 
the  same  time  the  interests  of  the  dominant  classes  come  to 
be  identified  with  this  institutionalized  culture  and  so  uncom- 
promisingly opposed  to  all  reforming  or  revolutionizing  en- 
thusiasms ;  while  the  "  lower  classes  "  gradually  come  to  a 
dim  and  inarticulate  realization  that  the  institutions  of  so- 
ciety no  longer  serve  their  interests.  Then  some  great  spirit 
with  deep  ethical  insight  and  prophetic  vision  arises  and 
voices  the  dumb  spiritual  needs,  the  blind  ethical  hungers,  of 
the  populace,  and  from  him  emanates  the  mighty  emotional 
tide  which  sweeps  all  before  it.  But  every  movement  is 
always  in  danger,  especially  in  its  earlier  stages,  of  falling 
into  demoralizing  excesses  because  of  the  low  intelligence 
and  high  suggestibilty  of  the  ignorant  masses.  And  there 
is  always  danger  lest  the  populace  in  its  fickleness  fall  under 


MENTAL   EPIDEMICS  277 

the  sway  of  a  counter  suggestion  and  become  the  foolish 
destroyer  of  its  own  deliverers.  Thus  Jesus  suffered,  and 
many  another  who  has  followed  him  in  devotion  to  the  in- 
terests of  the  people. 

The  truth  is  that  a  great  enthusiasm  of  any  kind,  whatever 
its  ethical  import,  spreads  along  the  line  of  least  resistance, 
and  the  line  of  least  resistance  runs  through  the  highly  sug- 
gestible minds  of  the  populace.  Along  the  high  road  of  pop- 
ular suggestibility  have  travelled  all  the  moralizing  and  all 
the  demoralizing  enthusiasms  that  have  blessed  or  blasted 
humanity. 

4.  The  prevalence  among  a  population  of  a  certain  con- 
stitutional disposition  may  have  much  to  do  with  their  sug- 
gestibility. In  general  the  races  bred  in  northern  latitudes 
will  be  less  volatile,  more  inhibitive  and  therefore  less  sug- 
gestible than  races  bred  in  southern  climes.  The  severity  of 
the  climate  drove  the  former  into  the  seclusion  of  the  home, 
compelled  them  to  practise  a  more  careful  foresight  and  a 
firmer  self-control.  This  cause  operating  through  many 
generations  tended  to  fix  these  traits  as  racial  characteris- 
tics. These  temperamental  differences  do  not  imply  that  the 
people  of  northern  races  have  less  feeling,  in  the  sense  of 
less  conscious  realization  of  the  meaning  of  their  experi- 
ences, but  they  manifest  their  feelings  less  quickly  and 
readily  in  outward  action;  their  inhibitive  powers  are 
more  highly  developed.  Of  course,  such  a  statement  does 
not  by  any  means  hold  good  of  all  the  individuals  of  the 
races  compared ;  but  means  simply  that  a  larger  proportion 
of  individuals  of  a  certain  temperament  are  found  in  a  race 
developed  in  one  environment  than  in  that  developed  in  an- 
other; that  the  conditions  of  life  are  more  favourable  to  the 
"  survival  "  of  a  given  temperamental  type,  which  thus  be- 
comes dominant  through  the  process  of  natural  selection,  and 
influences  the  whole  population  by  the  law  of  imitation. 
Contrast,  for  instance,  the  English  and  the  Latin  types,  the 
German  and  the  Celtic.  Or  set  the  present  social  develop- 
ment of  Russia  over  against  the  history  of  France  in  the 


2/8  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

eighteenth  century.  The  political  struggle  in  Russia  in  this 
generation  is  similar  in  many  essential  respects  to  that  of 
France  in  the  Revolutionary  Epoch,  and  the  social  condi- 
tions are  much  the  same.  But  how  differently  do  the  Rus- 
sians go  about  it !  There  are  points  of  similarity  in  method, 
to  be  sure ;  but  the  contrasts  are  more  profound  and  striking 
than  the  resemblances.  Violence  is  characteristic  of  both 
movements ;  but  in  Russia  it  seems  to  be  limited  to  small 
groups  of  desperate  and  unbalanced  men  and  women;  while 
in  France  practically  the  whole  population  was  swept  by 
tempests  of  violent  fury.  Among  races  the  Italic,  Celtic 
and  Hellenic  groups  seem  to  be  more  subject  to  sudden  emo- 
tional seizures  of  the  entire  population,  more  readily  dom- 
inated or  obsessed  by  a  single  idea  or  sentiment  than  any 
other  of  the  peoples  that  have  attained  to  a  high  culture; 
while  the  Teutonic  and  the  Slavic  groups  are  less  so.1 

These  temperamental  differences  which  manifest  them- 
selves among  the  advanced  peoples  doubtless  also  exist 
among  the  backward ;  but  all  races  in  the  early  stages  of  de- 
velopment are  highly  suggestible,  because  of  the  decided  pre- 
dominance of  the  instinctive  over  the  intellectual  factors  of 
personality,  and  are  therefore  quite  subject  to  mental  epi- 
demics. 

IV.  We  may  now  properly  ask :  What  bearing  has  the 
progress  of  society  upon  the  phenomena  we  are  studying? 

1The  paragraph  above  was  written  before  I  became  acquainted 
with  the  illuminating  and  suggestive  work  of  Professor  Ellsworth 
Huntington  on  "  Civilization  and  Climate " ;  and  perhaps  should 
be  somewhat  modified  in  the  light  which  he  has  cast  upon  this  rather 
obscure  subject.  His  conclusion,  which  he  has  apparently  demon- 
strated in  the  main,  is  that  a  very  high  development  of  civilization 
depends  chiefly  upon  three  climatic  factors  —  first,  the  general  prev- 
alence of  moderate  temperatures ;  second  a  considerable  degree  of 
humidity ;  and,  third,  a  marked  variability  of  the  weather.  It  seems, 
then,  that  long-continued  extremes  of  either  heat  or  cold,  great 
aridity  of  the  atmosphere  and  uniformitv  of  weather  conditions  are. 
all  depressing  and  tend  to  prevent  a  high  development  of  human 
energy.  However,  it  appears  to  be  true  that  races  developed  in 
warm  latitudes  show  certain  temperamental  qualities  not  found  in 
the  races  bred  in  cold  regions.  For  while  extremes  of  heat  and 
cold  both  depress,  they  affect  the  nervous  system  in  different  ways- 


MENTAL   EPIDEMICS  279 

Let  us  for  convenience  divide  the  development  of  society 
into  three  general  stages. 

First,  the  primitive  stage.  In  this  stage  the  social  life  is 
simple  and  undifferentiated ;  at  least  the  differentiation  is  at 
a  minimum.  This  state  of  things  is  favourable  to  the  sweep 
of  such  an  excitement  over  a  whole  population  with  un- 
diminished  power.  The  population  is  not  split  up  into 
sharply  defined  classes,  except  along  the  lines  of  sex  and 
age.  These  being  the  only  groupings  which  are  clearly  dis- 
tinct from  one  another  in  interest,  experience  and  mental  or- 
ganization, they  indicate  the  only  cleavages  which  offer  any 
obstruction  to  the  sweep  of  contagious  emotion  over  the  en- 
tire population ;  and  it  is  obvious  that,  apart  from  these  lim- 
itations, an  emotional  excitement  will  spread  with  equal 
facility  and  with  full  power,  in  every  direction,  somewhat 
like  a  flood  of  water  over  a  level  plain. 

Second,  there  is  what  I  shall  call  the  middle  stage.  In 
this  stage  the  society  is  sharply  divided  into  quite  distinct 
classes.  The  caste  system  prevails.  Between  the  classes 
almost  impassable  chasms  run.  Each  class  has  its  own 
standards,  its  own  point  of  view,  its  own  interests.  Its 
sympathies  are  largely  shut  up  within  its  own  membership; 
what  takes  place  in  the  social  strata  below  or  above  it  excites 
but  a  languid,  or  at  most  a  curious,  interest  in  the  hearts  of 
those  who  move  within  its  circle.  Intercourse  with  the 
members  of  other  classes  is  reduced  by  the  spirit  of  ex- 
clusiveness  to  the  minimum  absolutely  necessary  for  carry- 
ing on  the  functions  of  life:  and  the  inevitable  contacts  are 
made  quite  perfunctory,  emptied  as  far  as  possible  of  all  per- 
sonal content.  The  upper  classes  scorn  to  imitate  the  lower 
ones;  and  where  the  demarcation  is  so  broad  and  fixed  the 
people  of  the  lower  classes  can  ape  the  upper  only  in  the 
most  superficial  way,  if  at  all,  and  view  from  afar,  most 
often  without  appreciative  insight,  the  emotions  which  agi- 
tate their  superiors.  The  water  of  sympathy  does  not  flow 
down  from  above  to  the  lower  social  levels  —  unless  there  be 
a  veritable  flood  —  because  it  is  too.  carefully  held  back  by 


28O  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

the  dykes  thrown  up  by  pride  and  convention ;  and  it  cannot 
flow  from  the  lower  to  the  higher  levels  except  under  the 
highest  pressure.  But  emotion  spreads  readily  and  rapidly 
within  the  class  lines.  The  members  of  one  class,  therefore, 
may  be  swept  by  a  common  emotion  which  does  not  cause 
even  a  tremor  in  the  breasts  of  others  who  rank  below  or 
above  them  in  the  social  scale.  For  example,  the  Negroes 
in  our  Southern  states  may  be  under  the  spell  of  a  most  in- 
tense mental  epidemic  —  convulsed  by  a  common  fear  or  a 
common  elation,  or  wild  with  religious  fanaticism  —  while 
the  whites  look  on  with  only  an  amused  interest;  and  the 
whites  may  be  "  crazed  "  by  a  financial  panic  or  a  land  boom, 
while  the  black  man  pursues  the  even  tenor  of  his  way,  mak- 
ing the  forest  vocal  with  his  plantation  melody  or  the  fields 
ring  with  his  care-free  laughter.  The  Southern  states  are, 
however,  far  from  being  typical  of  the  middle  stage  of  social 
development  I  am  now  describing.  For  typical  societies  of 
this  kind  we  must  look  to  lands  where  the  social  stratification 
is  yet  unmodified  by  the  powerful  influences  of  modern  in- 
dustrialism. 

There  are  only  two  conditions  under  which  the  excitement 
prevailing  in  one  class  is  likely  to  overleap  the  social  chasm 
and  infect  another.  If  it  becomes  overwhelming  in  its  in- 
tensity it  may  spread  across  class  lines.  This  condition  was 
approximated  in  the  tremendous  war  excitement  that  con- 
vulsed Southern  society  in  the  early  sixties  of  the  last  cen- 
tury. In  that  case  the  cause  of  the  excitement  was  one  that 
affected,  indirectly  at  least,  the  relations  of  the  two  classes 
to  one  another  —  though  fortunately  the  Negroes  had  only 
a  dim  apprehension  of  that  fact,  and  were  in  sympathy  with 
their  white  masters ;  but  notwithstanding  this,  the  agitation 
was  only  imperfectly  communicated  to  them.  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  excitement  grows  directly  out  of  the  rela- 
tions of  the  classes  to  each  other  and  they  both  are  clearly 
conscious  of  this,  it  will  spread  across  the  line ;  but  in  this 
case  it  will  not  on  the  two  sides  take  the  form  of  a  single 
emotion  but  of  two  opposite  or  antagonistic  emotions,  and 


MENTAL  EPIDEMICS  28l 

the  effect  is  not  a  mental  unification  of  the  two  classes  but  a 
broadening  and  deepening  of  the  hiatus  between  them. 
This  was  well  exemplified  in  the  great  social  storms  of  the 
Reconstruction  Era  in  the  South,  and  in  the  racial  excite- 
ments which  have  occurred  intermittently  ever  since. 
There  are,  indeed,  no  more  effective  barriers  to  the  spread 
of  a  common  emotion  than  distinctions  of  class,  and  the 
effectiveness  of  the  barriers  is  in  direct  ratio  to  the 
sharpness  and  fixity  of  these  distinctions.  When  they 
become  rigid  and  impassable  as  in  a  caste  system,  noth- 
ing but  a  profound  excitement  which  directly  concerns 
some  fundamental  and  universal  human  interest  can 
give  a  common  orientation  of  mind  to  the  whole  pop- 
ulation, and  then  the  emotion  must  be  so  intense  that 
it  suspends  all  the  acquired  controls  of  conduct  and 
leaves  the  fundamental  instincts  in  complete  ascend- 
ancy. What  takes  place  then  is  not  so  much  a  communica- 
tion of  emotion  or  the  radiation  of  an  excitement  from  a 
centre,  as  a  like  instinctive  reaction  to  a  stimulus  too  power- 
ful to  be  responded  to  by  reason. 

The  third  stage  in  social  development  is  our  modern  in- 
dustrial society.  In  this  the  caste  system  has  dissolved  or  is 
dissolving.  The  hiatus  between  classes  is  no  longer  impass- 
able. Families  may  sink  from  a  higher  into  a  lower,  or  rise 
from  a  lower  into  a  higher,  class  within  two  generations  or 
even  one.  The  distinctions  on  the  whole  remain  clear 
enough,  but  the  lines  of  demarcation  between  the  class  fron- 
tiers are  almost  blotted  out.  Even  in  western  European 
countries,  where  the  traditional  aristocratic  stratification 
of  society  was  only  less  rigid  than  in  India,  the  classical 
land  of  the  caste,  the  tendency  to  substitute  open  classes  for 
the  closed-class  system  has  profoundly  modified  the  social 
organization ;  while  in  the  United  States  the  only  clearly  de- 
fined principle  of  stratification  is  income,  which  determines 
the  standard  of  living  and  thus  the  general  lines  within 
which  reciprocal  social  intercourse  is  practicable. 

One  might  infer  from  this  that  the  trend  is  toward  the 


282  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

reinstatement  of  the  simple  undifferentiated  type  of  society. 
But  this  is  far  from  the  fact.  If  the  lines  between 
classes  have  become  wavering  and  indistinct,  the  specializa- 
tion of  occupations  has  been  going  on  at  the  same  time  on 
a  quite  remarkable  scale;  and  the  occupational  differentia- 
tion produces  a  great  variety  of  social  types.  Those  en- 
gaged in  the  same  occupation  develop  a  certain  similarity 
of  mental  organization,  which  becomes  in  some  cases  very 
pronounced.  They  have  their  common  interests,  and  in  the 
more  important  occupations  they  have  more  frequent  con- 
tacts with  one  another,  or  at  any  rate  their  relations  with  one 
another  are  likely  to  be  more  sympathetic,  full  and  free, 
offering  a  more  open  path  for  the  spread  of  common  ideas 
and  emotions.  On  the  other  hand,  however,  the  important 
fact  must  be  noted  that  occupations  have  been  thoroughly  in- 
dividualized ;  almost  every  trace  of  hereditary  occupations 
has  vanished.  The  father  follows  one  trade  or  profession 
and  the  son  a  different  one,  or  the  several  sons  several  dif- 
ferent ones.  And  thus  within  the  same  family  more  than 
one  occupational  type  is  very  often  found.  Moreover,  in  the 
modern  world  the  great  diversification  of  interests  has  mul- 
tiplied and  varied  the  relations  of  men  to  one  another  be- 
yond all  parallel.  It  is  obvious,  therefore,  that  a  great  and 
increasing  number  of  social  ties  run  across  the  occupational 
lines,  as  well  as  across  the  crevices  of  class  distinctions. 
While  the  social  cleavages  have  been  greatly  multiplied  in 
number  there  is  vastly  more  criss-crossing  of  social  relation- 
ship. As  the  differentiation  of  specialized  groups  goes  on 
within  society,  the  threads  which  knit  them  together  also 
multiply.  If  I  may  use  so  crude  a  figure,  the  social  garment 
has  many  more  seams  but  the  seams  are  much  more  closely 
stitched. 

The  density  of  the  population  must  also  be  taken  into  con- 
sideration. It  is  greater  than  ever  and  is  constantly  in- 
creasing. Thus  social  contacts  are  much  more  numerous 
than  ever  both  within  and  across  group-lines,  though  it  must 


MENTAL  EPIDEMICS  283 

be  admitted  that  these  contacts  become  more  and  more  per- 
functory and  non-personal. 

Another  notable  feature  of  modern  life  is  the  vast  exten- 
sion of  the  means  of  communication.  Men  travel  much 
more  often  and,  as  a  rule,  much  farther  than  they  used  to. 
The  number  of  people  who  read  has  also  greatly  increased, 
and  they  read  more  than  they  ever  did  before,  and  while  the 
members  of  each  class  and  occupation  read  a  literature 
which  is  somewhat  specialized  and  adapted  to  their  tastes 
and  needs,  much  of  the  literature  that  pours  from  the  press 
circulates  through  all  classes  and  forms  a  line  along  which 
ideas  and  emotions  may  be  communicated  across  class  divi- 
sions. The  leading  newspapers  and  magazines  circulate 
over  extensive  areas  and  bring  into  one  mental  community 
great  numbers  of  men  widely  separated  in  local  communities. 
Books  pour  from  the  press  in  an  increasing  flood,  and 
many  of  them  are  read  by  tens  of  thousands  in  all  parts  of 
the  world  and  in  all  the  strata  of  society.  Along  the  in- 
numerable telegraph  and  telephone  wires  the  thoughts  and 
emotions  which  engage  the  minds  and  hearts  of  men  in  one 
part  of  the  world  are  flashed  to  distant  peoples.  It  is  not 
an  exaggeration  to  say  that  the  civilized  world  is  coming  to 
be,  in  some  real  sense  of  the  word,  one  mental  community. 
At  the  same  time  it  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  this  tends 
not  to  make  all  men  alike  in  thought  and  feeling,  but  really 
individualizes  the  mental  systems  of  men.1 

Now  what  relation  have  these  great  tendencies  of  modern 
life  to  the  phenomena  of  mental  epidemics? 

In  the  first  place,  it  would  be  reasonable  to  look  for  the 
more  frequent  occurrence  of  epidemics  in  modern  society. 
This  may  be  expected  to  result  from  the  vast  extension  of 
intercommunication,  which  brings  widely  separated  com- 
munities into  mental  touch.  This  close  inter-relation  of 
distant  sections  of  humanity  and  the  wider  knowledge 
of  what  is  going  on  in  the  world  vastly  multiply  the 

i  See  Chapter  III. 


284  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

number  of  stimuli  that  start  tides  of  social  emotion.  In 
these  days  there  come  to  our  knowledge  many  exciting  in- 
cidents and  situations  of  which  men  living  in  the  compar- 
atively isolated  communities  of  earlier  times  would  never 
have  heard.  For  instance,  the  celebrated  Dreyfus  case  pro- 
foundly moved  men  in. all  parts  of  the  world;  but  only  a 
century  previous  the  detailed  knowledge  of  it  and  the  attend- 
ant excitement  would  have  been  limited  to  France,  and  prob- 
ably to  a  section  of  the  French  people.  In  1904-5  the  whole 
civilized  world  was  electrified  by  the  Russo-Japanese  war. 
A  tide  of  sympathy  with  and  admiration  for  the  Japanese 
swept  the  people  of  England  and  America,  A  hundred 
years  ago  we  should  have  had  meagre  reports  of  it  after  all 
its  stirring  incidents  had  become  cold  history ;  and  it  would 
not  have  started  a  single  thrill.  In  fact,  a  hundred  years  ago 
Russia  and  Japan  had  no  communication  with  one  another, 
hostile  or  friendly,  and  our  knowledge  of  them  was  too  misty 
to  engage  our  interest  in  either.  A  century  ago  even  the 
great  war  in  Europe,  if  it  had  been  possible  then  on  so  co- 
lossal a  scale,  would  have  been  too  far  away  to  involve  our 
country  and  our  reports  of  it  too  meager  to  stir  us  as  under 
the  conditions  of  today.  But  the  frequency  of  mental  epi- 
demics is  due  not  only  to  the  wonderful  extension  of  inter- 
communication. The  greater  density  of  population  and  the 
increasing  tension  of  life  probably  tend  in  the  same  direc- 
tion. Life  is  more  urgent  and  dynamic.  Men  venture 
farther  and  dare  more,  plan  and  achieve  or  fail  on  a  larger 
scale ;  and  in  such  circumstances  we  should  naturally  expect 
a  more  frequent  occurrence  of  events  that  startle  or  shock 
the  public  mind  and  generate  waves  of  common  emotion. 

In  the  second  place,  a  reasonable  inference  would  be  that 
the  epidemic  would  be  more  diffusive,  i.e.,  would  radiate  in 
all  directions  more  readily  than  in  the  middle  stage  of  social 
development.  For  while  class  distinctions  remain  and  oc- 
cupational groups  have  become  more  numerous  and  more 
highly  specialized,  the  dividing  lines  are  crossed  by  many 
more  threads  of  relationship.  So  to  speak,  the  walls  sep- 


MENTAL  EPIDEMICS  285 

arating  these  various  groups  are  more  numerous,  but  they 
are  not  so  high  nor  so  thick,  and  they  are  pierced  by  many 
more  gates  through  which  ideas  and  emotions  may  be  more 
readily  communicated  than  through  the  less  numerous  but 
thicker,  higher  and  more  unbroken  walls  that  separated  the 
larger  divisions  of  a  caste  system.  In  a  rigidly  stratified, 
static,  traditional,  custom-ruled  society  the  common  emotion 
spread  only  within  the  limits  of  the  caste,  and  assumed  a 
greater  intensity  because  within  those  impassable  bounds 
there  was  so  little  mental  differentiation.  The  mental  epi- 
demic could  propagate  itself  in  but  one  direction,  but  in  that 
one  direction  gathered  greater  force.  But  the  substitution 
of  "  open  classes "  for  the  caste  system  has  profoundly 
changed  the  situation  and,  therefore,  collective  emotions  dif- 
fuse themselves  more  readily. 

In  the  third  place,  we  should  expect  these  epidemics  to  be 
much  reduced  in  intensity  in  the  modern  world.  The 
chasms  between  classes  are  not  so  broad  as  they  once  were 
and  emotions  spread  across  them  more  easily ;  but  they  nev- 
ertheless constitute  serious  obstructions  to  the  spread  of 
social  emotion.  The  lines  of  mental  cleavage  between  occu- 
pations by  no  means  form  impassable  barriers,  but  they  are 
of  sufficient  importance  to  check  the  communication  of 
mental  states  and  prevent  in  some  measure  like  responses  to 
the  same  stimuli.  For  instance,  the  same  situation  is  likely 
to  call  forth  a  different  reaction  in  the  minds  of  lawyers, 
merchants,  labourers  and  preachers,  unless  it  be  so  powerful 
an  appeal  to  the  fundamental  instincts  as  to  .upset  in  large 
measure  the  intellectual  processes.  The  higher  individual- 
ization  of  men  is  not  conducive  to  the  unhindered  sweep  of 
a  common  feeling. 

Still  another  condition  tends  to  lower  the  intensity  of 
mental  epidemics.  The  average  man  today  has  many  inter- 
ests, corresponding  to  the  many  relations  in  which  he  stands 
to  his  fellow  men ;  and  every  one  of  these  interests  and  rela- 
tions claims  a  part  of  his  attention,  time  and  energy.  In 
this  respect  his  situation  is  in  contrast  with  that  of  the  aver- 


286  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

age  man  of  by-gone  ages.  The  multiplication  and  dif- 
ferentiation of  the  interests  of  the  individual  are  among  the 
most  characteristic  features  of  modern  life.  When  some 
current  of  social  emotion  pours  through  a  community  of 
such  persons  it  is  not  nearly  so  likely  to  become  powerful 
enough  to  monopolize  time  and  thought,  because  the  other 
interests  are  clamouring  for  attention,  and  their  neglect  is  apt 
to  entail  serious  consequences.  It  is  hard  now,  therefore,  to 
secure  the  focalization  of  attention  necessary  for  the  devel- 
opment of  very  high  waves  of  common  emotion.  On  the 
whole,  then,  our  premises  lead  irresistibly  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  mental  epidemics  must  be,  as  a  rule,  less  over- 
whelming in  their  intensity  now  than  in  past  times. 

Now,  are  these  inferences,  that  greater  frequency,  more 
diffusiveness  and  lowered  intensity  characterize  mental  epi- 
demics in  modern  society,  in  accord  with  the  facts  ? 

It  does  not  seem  that  there  can  be  any  reasonable  ques- 
tion as  to  greater  frequency.  The  appeal,  of  course,  is  to 
history,  and  there  is  scarcely  a  doubt  that  the  facts  con- 
firm our  contention.  If  there  be  such  a  doubt  it  probably 
arises  from  the  fact  that  the  mental  epidemics  of  earlier 
times  were  more  isolated  and  more  striking;  and  seen  in 
the  perspective  of  history  appear  to  be  closer  together  in  time 
than  the  less  pronounced  types  of  the  same  phenomena 
through  which  we  are  living.  There  is  even  less  ground 
for  doubt  as  to  greater  diffusion  and  reduced  intensity.  It 
is,  of  course,  difficult  or  impossible  to  measure  the  force 
of  a  mental  movement  or  to  determine  the  extent  to  which, 
as  compared  with  other  movements,  it  spreads  through  all 
classes  of  the  population ;  but  I  am  persuaded  that  a  careful 
study  of  this  class  of  phenomena  as  they  have  been  re- 
corded will  convince  the  sceptical  that  the  propositions  above 
stated  have  a  firm  basis  in  facts.  Limitation  of  space  will 
not  permit  me  to  go  here  into  an  examination  of  the  histori- 
cal evidence;  but  one  fact  which  is  apparently  inconsistent 
with  our  conclusion  should  be  briefly  noticed,  viz.,  the 
severity  of  financial  panics  in  modern  times.  As  a  matter 


MENTAL   EPIDEMICS  287 

of  fact  the  financial  panic  is  a  phenomenon  which  can  ap- 
pear in  an  intense  form  only  in  a  rather  highly  organized 
system  of  national  or  international  economy.  It  was  simply 
impossible  in  a  tribal  or  household  system  of  economy. 
Strictly  speaking,  it  seems  that  financial  panics  of  a  violent 
species  are  phenomena  characteristic  of  the  intermediate 
stages  of  economic  organization  on  a  national  scale.  They 
cannot  occur  until  the  financial  system  of  the  country  has 
attained  to  a  considerable  degree  of  unity ;  but  as  it  develops 
it  tends  to  become  so  highly  centralized  and  integrated  in 
some  one  great  institution  that  each  unit  of  the  system  is 
supported  by  the  strength  of  the  whole,  and  this  gives  a 
steadiness  which  inspires  confidence  and  allays  the  excite- 
ment which  would  lead  to  demoralization.  When  all  the 
conditions  are  taken  into  consideration  it  is  probable  that 
mental  epidemics  of  this  variety,  as  of  every  other,  are 
becoming  more  frequent,  more  diffusive  and  less  violent. 
Assuming  the  truth  of  this  contention,  we  may  safely  con- 
clude that  the  general  tendency  is  away  from  excessive  and 
demoralizing,  towards  more  moderate  and  healthy  expe- 
riences of  this  kind.  We  shall  probably  never  witness  again 
the  wild  insanities  which  from  time  to  time  afflicted  society 
in  the  Middle  Ages.  It  is  not  probable  that  such  fanatical 
movements  as  the  Crusades  or  such  a  madness  as  the  anti- 
witchcraft  mania  will  ever  be  possible  again,  nor  should  we 
except  a  repetition  of  such  abnormal  religious  revivals  as 
that  which  swept  like  wild-fire  over  the  frontier  population 
of  Kentucky  and  Tennessee  in  1800.  This  may  be  ac- 
counted for  by  the  general  increase  of  intelligence,  but  the 
general  increase  of  intelligence  is  itself  coincident  with  and 
conditioned  by  the  social  processes  so  rudely  sketched. 

It  is  useless  to  argue  as  to  the  moral  and  social  value  of 
these  abnormal  religious  excitements.  Unquestionably  some 
good  results  followed  them,  directly  and  indirectly;  but  it 
is  also  beyond  dispute,  that  these  benefits  were  purchased  at 
the  cost  of  much  injury.  We  have  no  scales  in  which  we 
can  weigh  the  good  and  ill  effects ;  but  it  is  certain  that  the 


288  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

good  effects  of  all  mental  epidemics  are  proportionally 
greater  as  these  social  emotions  are  checked  and  brought 
under  the  direction  of  intelligence.  In  proportion  as  the 
crude  and  violent  emotions  are  rationalized  into  high  senti- 
ments do  they  become  socializing  agencies,  means  of  ethical 
education  and  spiritual;  advancement.  It  is  a  mistake  of 
capital  importance  to  try  by  artificial  methods  to  bring  on 
excessive  religious  excitements.  In  the  first  place,  the  effort 
is  doomed  to  failure.  The  history  of  acute  mental  epi- 
demics shows  beyond  question  that  they  can  rarely  if  ever 
be  deliberately  started.  They  do  not  originate  in  that  way. 
The  state  of  general  abnormal  suggestibility  which  they 
imply  can  not  be  induced  at  will.  It  is  due  to  causes  that  lie 
beyond  the  power  of  any  man  or  body  of  men.  Only  a  weak 
imitation  of  such  excitements  can  be  produced  by  deliberate 
effort.  In  the  second  place,  it  ought  not  to  be  done,  if  it 
could  be.  To  submerge  the  intelligence  in  a  tide  of  irra- 
tional emotion  does  not  advance  true  religion.  The  charac- 
ters of  men  are  not  transformed  into  likeness  to  Christ  by 
the  reflexive  twitching  of  the  nerves,  as  in  "  the  jerks/'  nor 
by  a  reversion  to  the  canine  type,  as  in  the  "  barking  exer- 
cise/' in  which  men  "  gathered  in  groups,  on  all  fours,  like 
dogs,  growling  and  snapping  the  teeth  at  the  foot  of  a  tree 
as  the  minister  preached, —  a  practice  which  they  designated 
as  '  treeing  the  devil.'  "  1 

One  of  the  most  pernicious  superstitions  that  has  hindered 
the  progress  of  true  religion  is  the  notion,  which  has  been 
so  prevalent  in  backward  societies  and  has  survived  so  per- 
sistently during  the  whole  Christian  era,  that  the  operation 
of  the  Divine  Spirit  is  especially  manifest  in  an  over- 
wrought emotional  state  in  which  the  intelligence  is 
swamped.  Can  any  valid  reason  be  given  why  we  should 
expect  the  Divine  Spirit  to  be  present  in  human  emotion 
more  than  in  the  operation  of  the  reason  and  the  conscience  ? 
The  apostle  Paul  had  to  contend  in  his  day  against  this 
very  superstition,  and  he  warns  the  Corinthians  that  "  the 

1  Davenport,  "  Primitive  Traits  in  Religious  Revivals,"  p.  80. 


MENTAL   EPIDEMICS  289 

spirits  of  the  prophets  are  subject  to  the  prophets."  *  That 
is  to  say,  if  the  emotion  passes  the  bounds  of  self-control  it 
loses  its  religious  value.  The  false  notion  that  the  Divine 
Spirit  is  especially  present  in  high  emotion,  every  generation 
of  constructive  religious  leaders  has  had  to  combat.  If 
religion  perishes  of  drought  in  the  arid  sterility  of  intellec- 
tualism  —  as  it  certainly  does  —  it  is  overwhelmed  and 
drowned  in  the  tidal  waves  of  pure  emotionalism.  It  may 
be  thought  that  the  danger  lies  today  in  the  direction  of  in- 
tellectualism.  Granting  that  this  may  be  true  as  to  a  small 
section  of  the  population,  it  is  by  no  means  a  general  danger. 
But  the  evidence  seems  clear  that  we  are  passing  out  of  the 
era  of  virulent  mental  epidemics,  and  that  fanaticism,  ter- 
rors, manias,  wild  and  dehumanizing  emotional  convulsions 
of  every  variety,  are  diminishing  factors  in  modern  life.  It 
would  certainly  be  too  much  to  claim  that  we  are  beyond  the 
danger  of  their  recurrence.  Here  and  there  in  peculiar  cir- 
cumstances and  under  the  unfortunate  leadership  of  men 
who  have  extraordinary  power  to  arouse  emotion  without 
any  counter-balancing  appeal  to  the  intelligence,  religious 
excitements  may  yet  be  developed  to  the  point  of  demoraliz- 
ing excess.  But  we  should  be  encouraged  by  the  fact  that 
such  mental  excitements,  as  in  more  primitive  times  occa- 
sionally swept  the  land  like  a  West  Indian  storm,  become  less 
intense,  less  extensive  and  of  shorter  duration.  Nor  should 
we  fear  that  genuine  religious  revivals  will  become  a  thing 
of  the  past.  Man  will  always  be  an  emotional  being,  but  in 
his  upward  development  his  emotions  will  be  more  thor- 
oughly incorporated  in  the  unity  of  a  rational  personality 
and  organized  into  sentiments  and  ideals.  Communities 
will  always  be  subject  to  waves  of  common  feeling,  which 
will  prompt  to  united  action ;  but  collective  action  will  be 
less  spasmodic  and  irregular,  more  rational,  ethical  and  or- 
derly. The  religious  revival  will  more  than  gain  in  moral 
significance  and  social  value  all  that  it  loses  in  wild  ex- 
travagance and  abnormal  demonstration. 
1 1  Corinthians,  Chap.  14. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

OCCUPATIONAL   TYPES 

No  argument  is  required  to  show  that  one's  occupation 
determines  to  a  large  extent  his  habitual  mental  processes. 
In  adult  life  it  appears  to  be  the  chief  factor  in  giving  direc- 
tion and  form  to  the  intellectual  and  emotional  development. 
Its  importance  in  this  respect,  while  always  predominant, 
will  depend  on  how  nearly  the  occupation  monopolizes  the 
time  and  energy  of  the  person,  i.e.,  upon  the  relative  amount 
of  leisure  he  has  and  how  he  uses  it.  If  his  leisure  is  ample 
and  so  used  as  to  bring  him  into  other  and  different  currents 
of  thought  and  feeling,  to  introduce  new  interests  into  his 
life  and  to  give  him  points  of  view  upon  life  different  from 
those  of  his  occupation,  it  will  in  a  corresponding  measure 
modify  the  development  of  his  inner  life.  In  other  words, 
an  occupation  which  leaves  little  leisure  is,  second  only  to 
the  instinctive  inheritance  and  the  environment  of  child- 
hood, the  chief  determining  factor  in  fashioning  the  per- 
sonality. Ample  leisure,  if  so  used  as  to  bring  one  into 
other  circles  of  interest,  renders  the  occupation  relatively 
less  dominant;  and  yet  it  must  be  remembered  that  the 
habits  formed  in  the  occupation  will  most  likely  influence  the 
use  of  the  leisure  time.  One's  leisure  is  spent  according  to 
inclination  and  taste;  and  inclination  and  taste,  while  not 
wholly  determined  by  one's  customary  activities,  are  largely 
controlled  by  them.  Without  going  into  details  we  may  say, 
then,  that  although  the  use  of  leisure  may  have  some,  and 
certain  uses  of  it  a  considerable,  tendency  to  soften  the 
hard  lines  of  occupational  specialization,  its  effect  is  limited. 
That  those  who  pursue  the  same  occupation  or  similar 
ones  tend  to  resemble  one  another  in  their  modes  of  thought 

290 


OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES  2gi 

and  to  conform  to  a  type  is  a  fact  of  common  experience; 
but  such  types  are  somewhat  indefinite  and  hard  to  describe. 
Indeed,  individual  variations  within  the  same  type  are  so 
numerous  and  so  great,  and  there  are  so  many  individual 
exceptions,  that  no  generalizations  can  be  made  which  hold 
good  absolutely  and  always.  And  yet  these  types  are  very 
real,  and  every  one  who  seeks  to  influence  men  generally 
should  study  them.  It  would  be  interesting  theoretically  to 
study  in  detail  the  various  psychological  types  which  result 
from  the  many  specialized  activities  of  men ;  but  for  our 
practical  purpose  we  need  consider  only  three. 

I.   THE   MINISTERIAL   TYPE 

Of  course,  it  is  not  the  intention  to  intimate  that  all  minis- 
ters are  alike.  As  has  just  been  suggested,  not  all  persons 
engaged  in  any  occupation  conform  completely  to  the  type 
which  that  occupation  tends  to  produce;  and  variety  in 
modes  of  thought  and  mental  attitudes  is  in  no  class  more 
strikingly  obvious  than  among  ministers.  But  experience 
teaches  us  that  the  ministerial  occupation  does  tend  to  de- 
velop certain  habits  of  mind.  The  average  minister  uncon- 
sciously and  almost  inevitably  assumes  such  characteristic 
attitudes  that  he  can  nearly  always  be  correctly  classified, 
after  a  little  conversation,  by  any  intelligent  stranger.  His 
way  of  looking  at  things  which  are  even  remote  from  his 
daily  work,  the  general  run  of  his  ideas,  his  "  manners,"  his 
tones,  his  speech  —  all  betray  him.  Sometimes  the  minis- 
terial flavour  of  his  personality  is  too  subtile  to  be  described, 
but  can  readily  be  perceived.  If  calling  attention  to  these 
things  succeeds  only  in  making  him  self-conscious,  the  result 
will  be  nothing  better  than  an  added  awkwardness ;  but  the 
intelligent  minister  will  find  benefit  from  studying  his  own 
occupational  type  because  it  will  enable  him  to  check  himself 
up  and  correct  in  some  measure  a  strong  tendency  to  a  one- 
sided development  of  his  personality. 

I.  Consider  the  breadth  of  his  occupation.  If  we  should 
try  to  define  the  occupation  of  the  modern  minister  by  rea- 


PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

soning  inductively  from  the  actual  facts,  we  should  find  con- 
siderable difficulty.  What  a  variety  of  things  he  is  called 
upon  to  do !  In  these  later  days  he  is  supposed  to  be  obliged 
to  dabble  in  some  way  in  almost  everything  that  goes  on. 
But  setting  aside  the  faddist  notions  that  are  current  as  a 
result  of  the  idea,  very  true  in  itself,  that  the  preacher 
should  relate  his  work'  to  all  phases  of  life,  we  still  have 
difficulty  in  making  out  exactly  the  range  of  the  modern  min- 
ister's legitimate  activity.  It  is  sometimes  jestingly  declared 
that,  to  meet  the  demands  of  a  large  congregation  in  a 
modern  community,  he  must  make  more  public  addresses  and 
of  a  vastly  more  varied  character  than  a  lawyer,  read  as 
much  as  a  learned  scholar,  visit  more  people  than  a  busy 
physician,  exercise  as  much  executive  ability  as  the  head  of 
a  great  corporation,  travel  nearly  as  many  miles  as  a 
"  drummer,"  cultivate  as  much  tact  and  adaptability  as  a 
politician,  and  withal  must  spend  as  much  time  in  prayer  and 
meditation  as  a  saint  And  there  is  almost  as  much  truth  as 
jest  in  the  remark.  No  other  occupation  demands  the  exer- 
cise of  so  great  a  variety  of  talents.  Thinking  upon  this 
aspect  of  his  work,  one  is  tempted  to  say  that  he  can  be  a 
specialist  only  in  an  indefinite  sense  of  the  word,  if  at  all. 
Indeed  his  function  must  be  quite  broadly  defined ;  and  yet, 
though  broad  in  scope  and  varied  in  details,  it  is  definite 
enough  in  principle.  Ideally  it  is  to  bring  the  whole  mes- 
sage of  Jesus  to  the  whole  life  of  men.  It  would  seem,  then, 
that  his  occupation  is  well  adapted  to  develop  a  full  and 
well  rounded  personality,  a  broadly  human  type.  This  is 
quite  true.  He  needs  to  know  all  truth,  as  far  as  is  humanly 
possible;  to  meet  and  deal  with  all  classes  and  conditions 
of  men;  to  enter  into  intelligent  sympathy  with  all  human 
activities  and  varieties  of  character.  Surely  an  occupation 
which  is  full  of  such  varied  demands  and  stimulations  will 
mould  a  large  and  noble  human  type. 

There  is,  however,  great  danger  that  it  will  develop  a 
mental  type  that  is  versatile  but  shallow.  Unquestionably 
this  occurs  so  often  that  critics  who  make  this  charge  against 


OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES  293 

ministers  as  a  class  have  some  show  of  justification.  Does 
not  the  average  minister,  in  the  effort  to  respond  to  the  nu- 
merous calls  made  upon  him,  learn  something  about  a  great 
many  aspects  of  life,  without  acquiring  a  very  thorough 
knowledge  of  any  one  of  them ;  dip  into  a  great  many  sub- 
jects, without  penetrating  to  the  depths  of  any  of  them? 
Thus  he  comes  to  be  a  man  of  very  varied  but  not  very 
accurate  information,  a  pleasant  companion,  an  interesting 
"  conversationalist,"  an  excellent  "  entertainer  "  in  the  social 
circle,  but  unable  to  speak  with  authority  upon  any  theme. 

2.  The  narrowing  tendencies  of  his  occupation.  Not- 
withstanding the  breadth  of  his  specialty  there  are  certain 
causes  at  work  in  his  occupation  that  tend  to  cast  him  in  a 
narrow  mould. 

( I )  There  is  a  tendency  to  the  habit  of  dogmatism.  The 
preacher  is  appointed  to  deliver  a  message  which  he  believes 
to  be  from  God.  Hence  there  must  be  a  note  of  positive- 
ness,  of  certainty,  of  authority  in  his  deliverances.  He  must 
often  be  dogmatic  in  utterance.  From  this  arises  a  need 
for  caution,  lest  he  should  fall  into  a  habit  of  dogmatic  ut- 
terance that  is  quite  unjustifiable. 

In  the  first  place,  he  should  remember  that  he  is  delivering 
his  understanding  of  the  divine  message.  He  is  an  inter- 
preter, and  it  is  his  interpretation  which  he  is  preaching. 
God's  message,  when  one  can  be  absolutely  sure  about  it, 
should  be  proclaimed  with  the  emphasis  of  finality.  But  the 
minister  should  never  forget  that  his  understanding  of  the 
divine  will  is  always  subject  to  error,  and  is  never  absolute. 
The  divine  will  is  always  right  and  is  not  open  to  debate ;  but 
how  easily  he  may  be  mistaken  as  to  what  that  will  is,  and 
especially  as  to  its  application  to  particular  situations! 
However  much  he  may  insist  upon  the  infallibility  of  the 
Bible,  that  is  a  quite  different  matter  from  his  interpreta- 
tion of  the  Bible ;  and  the  latter  he  certainly  has  no  right  to 
proclaim  as  the  final  and  unquestionable  truth.  How  easily 
and  unconsciously  some  preachers  err  here!  He  should 
never  forget  that  every  human  mind  has  its  bias,  which  in- 


294  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

evitably  and,  for  the  most  part,  unconsciously  determines 
where  it  will  place  the  emphasis,  what  aspects  of  any  sub- 
ject it  will  consider  as  primary  or  as  unimportant,  or  en- 
tirely overlook;  and  that  this  bias  of  his  own  mind  will 
determine  in  large  measure  the  results  of  his  thinking.  In 
view  of  his  inevitable  limitations,  can  the  preacher  be  sure 
enough  of  his  message* to  justify  intolerance?  Intolerance 
has  been  a  notable  bane  of  the  ministerial  function  in  all 
ages.  In  this  age  particularly  the  preacher  should  be  on  his 
guard  against  it;  for  intolerance  is  especially  offensive  to 
men  who  live  under  modern  conditions,  which  tend  to  de- 
velop the  spirit  of  tolerance.  No  man  can  set  himself  up 
for  an  oracle  now  with  a  hope  of  impressing  intelligent  men 
with  anything  but  his  own  egotism  or  fanatical  folly. 

The  tendency  of  the  ministerial  function  toward  intol- 
erance is  strengthened  by  the  fact  that,  according  to  the 
conventional  conditions  under  which  the  preacher  usually 
speaks,  he  "  has  the  floor  to  himself."  No  reply  is  made  to 
his  utterances,  certainly  not  at  the  time,  and  generally  not 
at  all.  His  deliverances  usually  go  without  public  chal- 
lenge. Rarely  is  he  called  upon  to  prove  the  truth  of  his 
declarations ;  and  this  fact  only  imposes  on  his  conscience  the 
heavier  obligation  to  be  careful  and  cautious,  to  look  on 
the  other  side,  and  to  measure  his  words.  Too  often  a 
preacher  is  insensible  to  this  obligation  of  honour,  and  cul- 
tivates license  in  dogmatism  and  intolerance  because  the 
decorum  proper  to  religious  services  leaves  him  an  open 
field  to  deliver  his  own  opinions  as  the  unquestionable 
truth  of  God.  Of  course,  he  should  not  suffer  his  caution 
in  this  matter  to  render  him  weak  in  his  religious  convic- 
tions or  negative,  timid  and  doubtful  in  his  utterance  of 
them.  But  it  should  lead  him  to  more  patient  and  thorough 
study,  a  greater  respect  for  differing  points  of  view  and  a 
more  humble  consciousness  of  his  limitations. 

Again,  he  sometimes  has  occasion  to  deal  with  matters 
about  which  he  has  some  general  information,  but  about 
which  he  can  hardly  be  presumed  to  have  special  knowledge. 


OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES  295 

In  such  matters  especially  he  should  beware  lest  he  suffer 
the  positiveness  of  utterance  usual  and  permissible  to  him 
in  the  realm  of  his  special  knowledge  to  give  a  tone  of 
offensive  dogmatism  to  his  statements.  His  deliverances  on 
such  questions  are  especially  likely  to  be  called  in  question ; 
and  errors  of  fact  or  half-baked  opinions  stated  with  dog- 
matic cocksureness  will  discredit  him  in  the  eyes  of  all  in- 
telligent people,  and  weaken  the  force  of  the  genuine  truth 
which  he  proclaims.  Often  he  should  make  reference  to 
such  matters  and  he  should  by  no  means  be  timid  and  nerve- 
less in  doing  it;  but  let  him  lay  aside  his  dogmatism,  and 
above  all  his  intolerance,  when  he  is  called  upon  to  discuss 
such  questions,  and  let  him  be  sure  of  his  facts,  and  patient 
and  fair  and  cautious  in  presenting  them. 

In  a  word,  the  preacher  should  strenuously  strive  against 
the  habit  of  dogmatism  which,  by  reason  of  the  character  of 
his  message  and  the  conditions  under  which  he  usually 
speaks,  is  so  likely  to  grow  upon  him.  If  he  should  always 
be  positive,  sometimes  dogmatic  and,  on  rare  occasions,  even 
intolerant  in  utterance,  let  him  seek  sedulously  never  to 
fall  into  these  attitudes  simply  through  force  of  habit.  His 
usual  positiveness,  occasional  dogmatism  and  rare  intoler- 
ance should  always  be  the  result  of  careful  study  and 
thought,  and  of  profound  conviction.  The  mere  habit  of 
positiveness  has  little  value ;  the  habit  of  dogmatism  has  less ; 
the  habit  of  intolerance  is  always  positively  offensive. 

(2)  The  tendency  to  a  merely  habitual  and  superficial 
gravity  of  tone  and  manner.  The  preacher  is  dealing  almost 
continually  with  the  most  sacred  things,  the  most  solemn 
and  awful  realities  —  sin,  salvation,  the  religious  meaning 
of  life,  death,  eternity,  God.  As  a  minister  of  the  gospel 
he  is  "  set  apart "  to  study  and  explain  these  solemn  realities 
and  aspects  of  human  experience,  and  guide  men  in  their 
relations  to  them.  It  is  natural,  therefore,  that  he  should 
have  an  extraordinary  sense  of  the  solemnity  of  life;  and 
this  is  as  it  should  be.  The  minister  who  is  deficient  in  the 
conscious  realization  of  the  deeper  issues  of  life  is  unfit  to 


296  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

be  a  spiritual  adviser  of  men.  All  the  world  feels  contempt 
for  the  minister  of  religion  who  is  given  to  levity.  It  is  a 
sure  sign  that  his  character  is  shallow,  and  that  he  is  simply 
incapable  of  perceiving  and  feeling  the  moral  and  spiritual 
significance  of  living.  But  it  is  easy  for  him  just  through 
his  familiarity  with  things  regarded  as  peculiarly  sacred  to 
fall  into  the  mere  habit  of  gravity,  going  about  with  "  a  long 
face  "  and  speaking  in  tones  that  quench  the  natural  glad- 
ness of  life  which  healthy  people  feel.  Such  a  manner  and 
tone  when  they  become  merely  habitual  are  likely  to  become 
superficial  and  to  indicate  no  longer  real  depth  and  sincerity 
of  feeling;  and  when  thus  detached  from  reality  they  are 
ridiculous,  if  not  disgusting  and  offensive,  to  those  who  are 
normally  constituted. 

Moreover,  the  fact  that  he  is  "  set  apart "  to  the  ministry 
will,  if  he  is  not  careful,  have  a  most  unfortunate  reaction 
upon  his  habitual  bearing.  What  does  this  "  setting  apart " 
mean?  Does  it  mean  a  sanctimonious  isolation  from  the 
ordinary  life  of  the  people?  Manifestly  he  is  set  apart 
from  the  ordinary  occupations  of  men  not  in  order  that  he 
may  be  detached  from  other  men  in  sympathy,  but  rather 
for  the  very  opposite  reason  —  that  he  may,  while  giving 
more  time  to  the  study  of  the  deeper  issues  of  life  and  to 
direct  communion  with  God,  also  enter  more  particularly 
and  variously  into  sympathy  with  men  in  all  the  walks  of 
life.  Not  that  he  may  be  specialized  into  aloofness  from 
other  men,  but  generalized  into  more  universal  community 
with  them  —  this  is  the  true  meaning  of  his  ordination  to 
the  ministry.  The  minister  has  often  interpreted  his  "  set- 
ing  apart  to  the  ministry"  in  the  sense  of  separateness  — 
as  if  thereafter  he  was  to  be  one  apart  from  his  fellows, 
dwelling  in  a  region  above  them  and  inaccessible  to  them; 
and  with  this  is  likely  to  go  a  subconscious  assumption  that 
he  is  no  longer  subject  to  the  same  motives  and  passions 
which  influence  other  men,  is  neither  to  be  judged  by  the 
same  standards  nor  to  receive  the  same  treatment.  This 
sense  of  abnormal  separateness  and  aloofness  has  from  old 


OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES 

shown  itself  in  the  professional  dress  of  the  minister.  The 
distinctive  garb  so  often  worn  by  him  not  only  indicates  this 
conception  of  himself,  but  also  strengthens  it.  He  would 
be  more  than  human  if  the  regular  wearing  of  a  distinctive 
dress  did  not  subtilely  react  upon  his  consciousness.  It  is  a 
visible  advertisement ;  and  however  little  observers  may  in 
their  hearts  respect  the  symbolical  significance  of  the  pecu- 
liar pattern  of  his  clothes,  it  naturally,  almost  inevitably, 
affects  their  attitude  toward  him;  nor  does  it  affect  their 
attitude  toward  him  more  than  it  does  his  attitude  toward 
himself.  It  is  an  outward  sign  of  the  old,  old  spirit  of 
priestcraft.  And  unfortunately  the  spirit  of  priestcraft  is 
not  yet  dead.  In  some  quarters  it  lingers  in  visible  strength, 
and  in  others  where  it  is  weakening  there  is  a  distinct  re- 
action, with  an  effort  to  revive  it.  The  truth  is  that  this 
conception  of  the  ministry  is  so  inveterate,  so  deeply  im- 
bedded in  the  religious  traditions  of  the  world,  and  is  so 
much  in  accord  with  certain  persistent  trends  of  human 
nature  that  the  people  are  quite  as  responsible  for  its  con- 
tinued survival  as  the  ministers  themselves.  But  all  human 
experience  demonstrates  beyond  reasonable  question  that 
when  ministers  of  religion  yield  to  this  tendency  and  in  their 
thought  of  themselves  become  detached  from  their  fellow 
men,  the  inevitable  result  is  that  their  official  duties  become 
perfunctory,  their  genuine  spirituality  decays  and  religion 
dry-rots. 

But  notwithstanding  this  reactionary  tendency,  we  must 
recognize  that  the  general  trend  of  modern  life  is  in  the 
opposite  direction.  In  fact,  the  minister  of  habitual  gravity, 
of  solemn  aloofness,  is  fast  becoming  a  thiiig  of  the  past, 
lingering  yet  in  some  backward  communities,  but  rapidly 
disappearing  in  the  more  advanced.  Modern  life  is  not  only 
more  gladsome  and  optimistic  but  more  rational  and  demo- 
cratic. Religious  sentiments  and  ideals  are  undergoing  a 
parallel  transformation.  The  ministerial  type  is  also  chang- 
ing. The  minister  we  have  been  describing  was  much  more 
common  in  the  olden  time.  Now  he  finds  himself  strangely 


298  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

out  of  place.  The  demand  is  for  ministers  of  happy,  sunny 
disposition.  The  pastor  is  expected  to  be  cheerful,  enter- 
taining, even  in  the  pulpit,  always  so  in  the  home  except  in 
the  most  serious  crises  of  life ;  and  in  the  social  circle  he  is 
expected  to  be  the  life  of  the  group.  His  "  long  face,"  if  he 
have  one,  must  be  left  in  his  study  when  he  goes  out  among 
the  people.  Being  himself  under  the  same  influences  which 
have  driven  away  the  austere  solemnity  that  shadowed  the 
lives  of  men  in  the  olden  times,  and  responding  to  the 
popular  demand  for  brightness  and  cheerfulness  in  men  of 
his  calling,  he  is  coming  to  be  an  apostle  of  happiness,  a  man 
who  brings  with  him  joy  and  laughter.  It  is  felt  by  many 
that  the  tendency  in  this  direction  is  towards  an  extreme  as 
unfortunate  as  his  professional  solemnity  of  former  days. 
And  certainly  it  is  well  that  he  should  be  careful  and  not 
suffer  himself  to  become  a  mere  entertainer,  whose  func- 
tion it  is  to  make  people  feel  pleasant  and  to  provoke 
hilarity.  Let  it  be  said  again,  levity  becomes  him  not.  In 
order  to  prove  that  he  is  not  "  solemncholy,"  it  is  not  neces- 
sary for  him  to  degenerate  into  a  teller  of  funny  stories,  a 
mere  jester.  Perhaps,  however,  for  the  majority  of  minis- 
ters the  popular  demand  that  they  shall  be  buoyant  and 
good-humoured  will  only  serve  as  a  corrective  of  the  in- 
fluences that  tend  toward  habitual  and  formal  solemnity; 
and  so  yield  us  on  the  whole  a  healthy  and  soundly  human 
type. 

(3)  The  preacher  is  concerned  primarily  and  continually 
with  the  application  of  what  seems  to  him  to  be  the  will  of 
God  to  the  actual  lives  of  men.  His  conception  of  the  will 
of  God  is  the  standard  by  which  he  is  accustomed  to  measure 
the  actions  of  men.  He  contemplates  men  as  sinners,  living 
in  very  imperfect  conformity  with  the  standard  which  he 
regards  as  divine,  and  as  a  consequence  exposed  to  the 
divine  condemnation,  from  which  they  can  be  rescued  only 
by  the  gracious  power  of  God.  He  is,  or  should  be  and 
naturally  considers  himself  to  be,  an  expert  in  moral  pathol- 
ogy. Just  as  the  expert  physician  looks  at  men  with  the 


OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES  2Q9 

eye  of  a  physical  pathologist  and,  therefore,  sees  many  evi- 
dences of  physical  weakness  and  deficiency  where  ordinary 
people  see  none,  just  because  he  is  judging  every  man  in 
the  light  of  an  ideal  physical  manhood;  so  the  preacher 
habitually  regards  men  from  the  moral  and  spiritual  point 
of  view  and  measures  them  against  his  moral  and  spiritual 
ideal. 

Now,  this  ideal  is  likely  to  be  far  more  influenced  than 
he  realizes  by  the  fact  that  his  function  is,  as  a  rule,  per- 
formed in  and  through  an  institution,  the  church.  Every 
institutionalized  function  tends  to  develop  an  ideal  of  life 
into  which  loyalty  to  the  institution  enters  as  a  very  im- 
portant factor;  and  the  tendency  is  for  that  to  become  the 
chief  factor  in  the  ideal.  For  instance,  the  political  leader 
comes  quite  naturally  to  judge  the  character  of  men  by  the 
standard  of  loyalty  to  the  party.  The  jurist  tends  to  have 
an  exaggerated  idea  of  the  law  as  a  standard  of  righteousness 
and  of  conformity  to  the  law  as  the  criterion  of  character. 
It  is  also  true  of  the  business  man.  Likewise  the  minister 
may  easily  fall  into  the  habit  of  judging  men  too  much  ac- 
cording to  their  attitude  toward  the  church.  His  ideal  of 
righteousness  tends  to  become  churchly.  The  man  who 
attends  church  regularly,  supports  it  with  his  means,  and  up- 
holds the  minister  in  his  eccelsiastical  function,  is  the  good 
man.  His  dereliction  in  other  relations  is  likely  to  be  min- 
imized. If  in  his  church  relations  he  is  beyond  criticism, 
does  not  the  minister  often  treat  his  failures  in  other  re- 
spects as  venial  ?  Certainly  the  preacher's  ideal  of  righteous- 
ness may,  if  he  is  not  careful,  be  narrowed  to  the  point  of 
having  its  ethical  vitality  destroyed,  by  reason  of  the  fact 
that  he  is  engaged  in  an  institutionalized  function.  Preach- 
ing can  hardly  cease  to  be  an  institutionalized  function ;  but 
the  preacher  should  with  all  his  might  resist  having  his  ideal 
standard  of  conduct  whittled  down  to  mere  loyalty  to  an 
institution,  even  though  that  institution  be  the  church.  This 
charge  is  so  often  —  and,  it  is  to  be  feared,  so  truthfully  — 
made  against  preachers  that  it  is  well  to  emphasize  that  he  is 


300  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

only  following  a  general  trend  of  human  nature  in  doing  so 
—  a  trend  which  manifests  itself  just  as  often  and  just  as 
objectionably  in  men  of  other  occupations.  But  it  is  espe- 
cially sad  and  hurtful  when  preachers  yield  to  this  tendency ; 
for  they  are  moral  mentors  and  guides  on  whom  devolves 
an  exceptionally  heavy  responsibility.  Nowhere  will  they 
find  more  inspiration  to  resist  this  narrowing  tendency  than 
in  the  example  of  their  great  Master.  To  a  greater  extent 
than  many  realize  the  tragedy  of  the  life  of  Jesus  grew  out 
of  his  struggle  against  such  a  narrow  and  devitalized  stand- 
ard of  righteousness. 

But  if  the  preacher  be  on  his  guard  against  this  unfor- 
tunate tendency  and  cherish  a  higher  and  more  vital  stand- 
ard, the  very  practice  of  measuring  actual  life  by  an  exalted 
standard  may,  and  not  infrequently  does,  produce  in 
him  a  pessimistic  view  of  the  world ;  though  such  a 
tendency  does  not  seem  so  strong  with  men  of  this 
class  as  with  those  whose  ideal  is  cast  in  the  narrow 
mould  of  "  churchianity."  The  reason  doubtless  is  that 
the  influences  of  modern  life  are  much  more  favourable 
to  the  larger,  saner  ethical  ideal  of  religious  life  than  to  the 
formal  ideal  of  churchliness.  The  man  who  cherishes  the 
higher  ideal  is  more  likely  to  feel  himself  to  be  fighting  with 
the  trend  of  the  age.  Moreover,  he  feels  himself  to  be  more 
in  harmony  with  God.  But  notwithstanding  this,  the  en- 
thusiastic minister  who  contemplates  the  imperfections  of 
actual  moral  achievement  and  the  snail-like  progress  of  the 
world  in  the  light  of  a  great  and  glowing  ethical  ideal  will 
often  need  to  resist  a  tendency  to  discouragement,  and  does 
not  always  escape  the  spiritual  tragedy  of  crystallizing  in  a 
mental  attitude  of  pessimism,  which  means  the  decadence 
of  his  power  and  finally  the  ending  together  of  his  useful- 
ness and  of  his  spiritual  vitality.  The  best  preventives,  and 
the  best  remedies,  if  the  disease  has  been  contracted,  are  a 
deeper  sympathy  with  the  mind  of  Jesus,  a  more  vital  real- 
ization of  God's  presence  in  the  world,  a  closer  and  more 
sympathetic  touch  with  the  lives  of  his  fellow  men,  A  weak 


OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES  3OI 

sense  of  the  divine  presence  in  the  world  is  the  source  of 
much  ministerial  pessimism;  ignorance  of  the  past  is  the 
mother  of  much  more ;  and  the  rest  may  easily  spring  from 
a  lack  of  sympathetic  insight  into  the  struggles  and  as- 
pirations of  living  men.  In  this  age  above  all  others  pes- 
simism, gloominess  of  spirit,  should  be  avoided  by  preachers, 
because  it  isolates  them  so  completely  from  the  generation 
in  which  they  live.  Modern  life,  as  we  have  seen,  is  much 
more  gladsome  than  the  life  of  former  times  —  a  fact  which 
is  due  in  no  small  measure  to  better  economic  conditions 
and  to  a  wide-spread  and  growing  belief  in  the  progress  of 
the  world,  which  is  based  upon  a  better  knowledge  of  the 
past. 

(4)  The  preacher,  along  with  persons  engaged  in  several 
other  occupations,  lives  in  economic  dependence.  The  work 
of  this  class  of  persons  does  in  fact  add  to  the  material 
values  of  a  community,  and  sometimes  adds  far  more  than 
they  receive ;  but  it  does  so  indirectly,  and  the  value  of  their 
services  to  economic  welfare  is  not  always  apparent  to  them 
or  to  others.  But  within  this  general  group  there  are  two 
classes.  First,  there  are  those  whose  services  are  engaged 
and  paid  for  by  individuals  acting  separately.  Each  in- 
dividual, whether  a  person  or  a  corporation,  requires  only 
a  portion  of  their  time  and  energy.  The  physician,  for  in- 
stance, has  his  clients  who  as  separate  individuals  engage 
his  services,  and  the  continuance  of  the  relation  depends 
alone  upon  the  mutual  satisfaction  of  the  two.  Likewise 
with  the  lawyer.  Second,  there  are  those  whose  entire 
energy  and  time  are  engaged  by  a  single  employer,  whether 
a  person  or  a  corporation.  Manifestly  there  is  a  wide  dif- 
ference between  the  economic  situation  and  relations  of 
these  two  classes.  As  a  rule,  ministers  belong  to  the  latter 
class,  though  evangelists  and  those  who  do  "  occasional 
preaching  "  belong  to  the  former ;  and  pastors  who  serve  two 
or  more  churches  occupy  a  middle  ground  between  the  two 
classes.  We  now  have  in  mind  pastors  whose  entire  time 
is  engaged  by  single  churches,  though  much  of  what  is  said 


3O2  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

applies  also  to  pastors  whose  time  is  divided  between  dif- 
ferent churches. 

But  another  important  distinction  is  to  be  noted  between 
ministers  serving  in  denominations  centrally  organized  and 
those  belonging  to  denominations  organized  on  the  principle 
of  local  church  autonomy.  Economically  the  position  of 
these  two  classes  is  in  principle  the  same,  though  the  prin- 
ciple applies  differently  in  the  two  cases.  In  the  centrally 
organized  denominations  the  individual  minister's  imme- 
diate responsibility  is  to  the  central  or  controlling  officials 
to  whom  primarily  he  must  look  for  employment;  in  the 
denominations  organized  on  the  principle  of  local  autonomy 
he  must  look  for  employment  primarily  to  the  local  congre- 
gations. However,  in  the  latter  there  are  central  officials  of 
the  general  bodies  who  are  called  upon  frequently  to  act  as 
"  go-betweens,"  although  they  are  not  appointed  for  this 
purpose ;  while  in  the  centrally  organized  denominations  the 
trend  is  toward  giving  the  local  congregations  a  larger  in- 
fluence in  the  selection  and  retention  of  their  pastors.  The 
principle,  however  it  works  in  differently  organized  bodies, 
is  that  the  individual  minister  is  dependent  for  employment 
and  economic  welfare  on  some  corporate  body,  whether  it  be 
a  local  congregation  or  a  group  of  officials  representing  the 
denominational  body,  which  officials  are  coming  more  and 
more  to  be  merely  the  organs  through  which  the  local  con- 
gregations make  their  wishes  known  and  effective. 

Now,  this  situation  usually  exerts  a  potent  influence  in 
determining  the  habitual  attitude  and  bearing  of  the  minis- 
ter; and  it  is  no  wonder.  The  constant  pressure  of  a  power- 
ful consideration  like  the  necessity  of  providing  bread  and 
meat  for  oneself  and  one's  family  must  profoundly  influ- 
ence ordinary  human  beings.  That  from  time  to  time  in 
human  history  rare  personalities  have  appeared  who  have 
risen  above  this  consideration  only  brings  out  in  relief  the 
fact  that  it  is  an  all  but  universal  influence  and  one  of  the 
most  fundamental  and  potent  that  affects  our  human  nature. 
It  may  be  said  that  ministers  should  be  superior  to  it;  but 


OCCUPATIONAL   TYPES  303 

that  is  a  requirement  that  as  a  class  they  should  be 
spiritual  heroes.  It  is  an  ideal,  but  a  high  and  difficult  ideal ; 
and  the  fact  is  that  ordinarily  it  is  not  attained.  The  great 
majority  of  ministers  are  more  or  less  influenced  —  if  not 
consciously,  then  unconsciously  —  by  the  material  consid- 
eration that  they  need  an  economic  basis  for  their  lives. 
They  can  secure  this  only  by  meeting  with  some  measure  of 
satisfaction  the  wishes  of  those  who  employ  their  services. 

Along  with  this  goes  another  consideration  which,  whether 
it  be  superior  to  the  one  just  mentioned  or  not,  seems  at 
any  rate  to  be  less  material,  and  which  weighs  heavily  with 
many  ministers  —  the  desire  for  appreciative  recognition 
and  promotion  to  positions  of  greater  influence.  To  this 
also  it  may  be  felt  that  the  man  devoted  to  so  holy  a  calling 
should  be  superior  —  and  that  we  are  far  from  disputing. 
The  minister's  distinction  and  promotion  should  come 
through  the  very  humility  and  unselfishness  of  his  service. 
But  those  who  urge  this  should  consider  that  such  humility 
ought  not  by  any  means  to  be  peculiar  to  him.  To  the 
Christian  law  of  promotion  through  self- forgetful  service 
all  the  followers  of  Christ  are  subject  alike.  Preachers  are 
fashioned  from  the  common  clay  of  humanity;  and  it  is  to 
bring  in  by  the  back  door,  so  to  speak,  the  old  notion  of 
priestcraft  if  they  are  to  be  regarded  as  belonging  to  a  dif- 
ferent order  of  beings  from  their  fellow  Christians. 

It  can  hardly  be  denied  that  the  habitual  mental  attitude 
and  personal  bearing  of  the  average  minister  is  to  a  con- 
siderable extent  moulded  by  these  influences.  If  in  these 
matters  so  important  to  his  happiness  he  feels  himself  to 
be  dependent  upon  higher  ecclesiastical  officials,  it  is  useless 
to  deny  that  there  is  a  tendency  for  him  to  become  sub- 
servient, fawning,  a  flatterer  of  his  superiors;  if  he  avoids 
this  depth  of  degradation,  he  is  likely,  at  least,  to  seek,  on 
the  one  hand,  to  avoid  conflict  with  them ;  and,  on  the  other, 
to  realize  their  specific  requirements  in  his  work.  And 
even  in  the  later  case,  his  own  personality  is  in  some  measure 
sacrificed.  If  in  more  democratically  organized  bodies  he 


304  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

feels  himself  dependent  in  these  important  matters  upon  the 
pleasure  of  the  local  membership,  he  is  constantly  under  the 
temptation  to  become  a  time-server,  flattering  his  people, 
saying  things  he  thinks  they  would  like  to  hear,  timid  in 
exposing  their  faults,  keeping  sometimes  his  own  deepest 
convictions  and  highest  enthusiasms  under  the  lid  of  a  shame- 
ful silence  until  they  lose  their  life.  Especially  is  he  in 
danger  of  an  attitude  of  timidity  with  respect  to  the 
wealthier  and  more  influential  members.  But  he  is  con- 
scious of  the  importance  of  "  keeping  on  the  good  side  "  of 
all,  for  even  a  comparatively  insignificant  person  may  by 
persistent  agitation  render  his  position  untenable. 

The  situation  is  complicated  and  rendered  more  difficult 
by  the  fact  that  he  is  supposed  to  be  the  spiritual  leader  of 
his  people,  and  to  exercise  a  high  degree  of  moral  authority 
over  them.  His  function  is  not  to  \collow.  To  be  sure,  he 
can  not  drive,  he  can  not  dictate.  He  can  only  advise  and 
admonish ;  and  in  doing  this  he  can  no  longer,  except  among 
the  backward  and  yet  priest-ridden  population,  wield  the 
potent  weapon  with  which  once  the  minister  of  religion 
coerced  his  spiritual  subjects  —  his  supposed  control  over 
their  eternal  destinies.  Superstitious  fear  no  longer  affords 
a  basis  for  his  spiritual  control.  His  admonition  and  per- 
suasion must  be  rational  and  backed  by  no  forces  except  the 
appeal  of  truth  and  the  moral  power  of  personality ;  and  an 
essential  element  of  this  personal  power  is  the  conscious- 
ness of  independence.  The  effective  discharge  of  his  func- 
tion of  persuasive  leadership  requires  that  he  should  not  ir- 
ritate the  people  by  his  manner  or  by  insistence  upon  his 
petty  personal  notions ;  and  that  he  should  avoid  conflicting 
with  their  prejudices  and  tastes  when  no  essential  principle 
is  involved.  He  should,  of  course,  be  adaptable,  knowing 
how  "  to  be  all  things  to  all  men."  There  is  no  sacrifice  of 
his  independence  in  this ;  though  some  preachers  of  small 
caliber  seem  to  be  able  to  find  no  larger  and  more  fruitful 
way  of  asserting  their  independence  than  by  refusing  to 
adapt  themselves  to  the  prejudices  and  whims  of  their  peo- 


OCCUPATIONAL   TYPES  305 

pie  when  no  real  principle  is  at  stake.  But  independence  is 
to  be  asserted  in  larger  matters  wherein  principles  are  to  be 
maintained ;  and  here  the  sense  of  economic  dependence  and 
the  desire  for  popular  favour  may  be  fatally  weakening.  It 
is  noteworthy  that  the  great  Apostle  who  made  it  a  special 
point  to  cultivate  adaptability  to  all  sorts  of  people  "  that  he 
might  win  some,"  was  equally  careful  to  maintain  his 
economic  independence.  The  argument  does  not  touch  the 
question  as  to  the  duty  of  the  people  to  support  their  min- 
isters—  that  goes  without  saying;  but  it  is  intended  to 
stress  the  duty  of  the  minister  to  guard  jealously  against 
the  weakening  of  his  consciousness  of  independence,  and  by 
consequence  his  moral  leadership,  through  the  desire  for 
popularity  and  the  sense  of  helpless  economic  dependence 
upon  people  whom  he  should  persuade,  admonish,  rebuke 
and  direct. 

Of  course,  I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that  ministers  are,  or 
are  in  danger  of  becoming,  a  class  of  craven  hirelings,  who 
dare  not  assert  their  right  to  their  own  souls.  Such  charges 
are  made  by  those  who  have  little  knowledge  of  preachers. 
But  nevertheless  let  us  not  ignore  the  fact  that  the  steady 
pressure  of  these  economic  needs  and  of  the  desire  for  pop- 
ular favour  may  have,  and  in  innumerable  cases  does  have, 
an  unfortunate  effect  upon  their  habitual  attitudes,  of  which 
they  are  hardly  conscious.  It  is  exactly  the  subconscious 
effects  which  are  most  dangerous.  There  are  men  of 
spiritual  enthusiasm  intense  enough  to  neutralize  the  action 
of  such  influences,  and  a  few  men  by  the  sheer  innate 
strength  of  their  personalities  dominate  their  congregations, 
drawing  around  them  people  who  are  swayed  by  their 
"  magnetism,"  repelling  others  who  will  not  accept  their 
leadership,  and  thus  fashioning  the  ideals  and  determining 
the  spirit  of  their  churches.  '  But  with  men  of  smaller 
mould  the  case  is  not  so.  Do  not  many  of  them  sometimes 
solace  themselves  with  the  thought  that  they  are  following 
the  example  of  the  Apostle  who  "  made  himself  all  things 
to  all  men  that  he  might  win  some,"  when  in  fact  they  are 


306  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

yielding  to  the  silent  and  continual  pull  of  the  considerations 
we  have  been  discussing  ?  And  no  man  should  assume  that 
as  a  matter  of  course  he  is  not  being  swayed  by  them. 
Theoretically  it  is  probable  that  the  majority  of  ministers 
are  thus  more  or  less  influenced;  and  a  close  and  un- 
prejudiced study  of  them  seems  to  confirm  the  theoretical 
probability  that  these  iiifluences  contribute  to  the  formation 
of  the  ministerial  type.  "  Let  him  that  thinketh  he  standeth, 
take  heed  lest  he  fall." 

II.   THE   WAGE-EARNING  TYPE 

The  term  "  labouring  man "  needs  exact  definition.  In 
the  more  narrow  and  definite  sense  a  labouring  man  is  one 
who  is  engaged  in  handling,  for  a  wage,  the  implements  or 
machinery  of  industry  belonging  to  others.  In  a  somewhat 
more  indefinite  sense  of  the  words,  the  labouring  class  in- 
cludes all  who  do  manual  labour  for  a  wage.  In  a  yet 
wider  and  more  indefinite  sense,  all  are  included  who  work 
for  a  wage.  A  wage,  of  course,  must  be  distinguished  from 
a  salary.  A  "  wage  "  is  the  remuneration  given  those  who 
do  those  forms  of  work  which  we  feel  to  be  more  menial, 
and  paid  at  very  short  intervals.  A  salary  is  a  more 
dignified  form  of  compensation  than  a  wage.  Many  a  sal- 
aried worker  whose  work  is  far  less  important  and  respon- 
sible than  that  of  the  wage-earner  would  nevertheless  scorn 
to  be  classed  with  the  latter. 

In  this  discussion  the  phrase,  labouring  men,  is  used  in 
the  narrowest  and  most  definite  sense,  though  much  that 
will  be  said  applies  just  as  well,  perhaps,  to  the  wider  classes 
of  labourers  mentioned. 

The  importance  of  the  labouring  class  is  increasing  with 
the  growth  of  industry,  the  more  extensive  use  of  machinery 
and  the  more  highly  complex  and  varied  forms  of 
machinery.  The  class  is  growing  fast  in  numbers  notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  mechanical  invention  is  striving  con- 
tinually to  reduce  the  number  of  operatives  required  for  a 
given  output  of  production.  The  rapid  differentiation  of 


OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES  307 

modern  industry  and  the  increasing  consumption  of  goods, 
which  results  from  the  astonishing  accumulation  of  wealth 
and  the  constantly  rising  standards  of  living,  more  than 
overcome,  it  seems,  the  tendency  to  the  economy  of  human 
labour ;  and  as  a  consequence  the  labouring  class  is  a  steadily 
enlarging  one.  The  problems  of  that  class  are  coming  to 
be  the  most  acute  in  our  present-day  civilization.  The  con- 
sciousness of  this  fact  is  evident  in  our  political  life,  and 
not  a  whit  less  so  in  our  religious  life.  The  problem  of  the 
labouring  man  is  a  most  imperative  challenge  to  the 
preacher.  If  our  preaching  can  not  win  him  to  a  religious 
life,  it  is  a  failure  in  one  of  its  most  important  tasks.  If 
the  preacher  and  the  labouring  man  are  drifting  farther 
apart,  as  is  so  frequently  alleged,  it  means  that  the  ministry 
is  unsuccessful  in  the  effort  to  relate  its  message  vitally  to 
the  most  acute  problem  of  our  age.  Surely  the  situation  is 
grave  enough  to  call  for  a  most  careful  study  of  the  labour- 
ing man  from  the  homiletical  point  of  view. 

i.  Consider  the  conditions  of  his  life  as  affecting  his  in- 
tellectual development. 

(i)  As  to  his  work. 

(a)  His  labour  is  physical.  It  requires  comparatively 
few  thought  reactions  in  his  brain,  but  develops  quite  dis- 
proportionately the  motor  centres  and  tends  to  form  certain 
fixed  habits  of  physical  movement.  It  is  long  continued  and 
exhausting.  The  margin  of  leisure  is  small  and  the  margin 
of  surplus  energy  is  equally  so.  His  work  has,  therefore, 
not  only  given  him  little  preparation  for  intellectual  occupa- 
tion or  entertainment  in  his  brief  leisure,  but  has  in  consid- 
erable measure  positively  unfitted  him  for  it.  Furthermore, 
as  industry  becomes  more  extensive  and  machinery  more  in- 
tricate, the  tasks  of  labour  are  more  and  more  subdivided, 
and  each  individual  gives  his  attention  to  a  more  limited  proc- 
ess or  phase  of  a  process.  Hence,  in  his  labour  he  is  not 
required  to  think  the  whole  process.  His  intellectual  fac- 
ulties lack,  therefore,  even  the  stimulation  that  would  come 
from  "  thinking  together  "  or  correlating  all  parts  of  the 


308  PSYCHOLOGY  AND   PREACHING 

general  process  in  which  he  is  engaged.  One  may  question 
whether  his  opportunities  in  this  respect  are  inferior  to  those 
of  workers  who  in  the  days  of  handicraft  were  not  so  nar- 
rowly specialized.  Probably  they  are  not;  for  both  the 
handicraftsman  and  the  more  specialized  tender  of  a  limited 
machine  process  soon  become  quite  familiar  with  the  move- 
ments involved,  and  as  the  movements  become  habitual  they 
cease  to  engage  acute  attention,  since  all  habitual  processes 
inevitably  drop  below  the  level  of  clear  consciousness.  It 
is  only  when  the  machine  goes  wrong  or  the  tool  is  acci- 
dentally mishandled  that  the  labourer  becomes  fully  con- 
scious of  his  activity.  At  the  same  time  the  necessity  of 
overlooking  the  machine  or  handling  the  tool  accurately 
prevents  his  becoming  absorbed  in  thought  on  any  other 
subject.  His  mind  must  hover  near  the  machine  or  tool, 
though  neither  gives  any  vigorous  occupation  to  his  mind. 
Attention,  thought,  is  but  little  required.  How  habitual, 
monotonous,  uninteresting  such  an  occupation  becomes  may 
readily  be  imagined !  We  must  remember  that  the  develop- 
ment of  the  brain  areas  connected  with  the  intellectual 
processes  is,  other  things  being  equal,  in  proportion  to  the 
number,  variety  and  intensity  of  the  stimulations  to  thought 
to  which  one  is  called  on  to  respond.  Consciousness  must 
be  constantly  focalizing  upon  objects,  upon  different  objects, 
and  this  must  be  done  intensely,  in  order  that  the  associa- 
tional  areas  of  the  brain  be  highly  developed  in  capacity 
and  fully  correlated  in  their  activity.  The  labouring  man 
at  his  work  may  be  said  to  live  ordinarily  in  a  state  of  dif- 
fused consciousness,  i.e.,  his  consciousness  is  usually  not 
intense  because  his  actions  are  performed  under  the  control 
of  habit. 

It  may  be  said,  indeed,  that  his  work  is  throughout  an 
application  or  embodiment  of  thought.  But  the  thought  is 
not  his,  except  in  a  secondary  sense  as  he  makes  the 
thought  of  another  his  own  while  giving  it  material  form ; 
and  as  stated  above,  he  thinks,  or  needs  to  think,  the  process 
in  only  a  limited  way.  It  is  his  to  do  only  the  mechanical 


OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES  3OQ 

part  in  the  embodiment  of  thought;  but  even  this  has  some 
intellectual  value  and  saves  his  work  from  utter  mental  bar- 
renness. However,  the  intellectual  and  the  mechanical 
parts  of  the  process  of  embodying  thought  in  material  forms 
are  becoming  more  and  more  highly  specialized  and  differ- 
entiated with  the  further  application  of  machinery  to  pro- 
duction. The  designer,  who  is  likely  to  be  a  "  salaried " 
person,  formulates  the  idea  of  the  thing  to  be  made,  and  the 
machine  does  the  rest,  it  being  only  necessary  to  have  a  man 
watch  the  machine  and  keep  it  in  working  order  —  which 
as  we  have  seen  requires  no  great  mental  activity. 

(b)  The  labouring  man  deals  in  his  work  only  with  the 
material  forms  of  reality.  He  handles  wood,  iron,  earth. 
His  machine  or  his  tool  is  a  material  thing  and  shapes 
material  things.  He  has  no  direct  dealing  with  life  in  any 
of  its  forms.  It  is  the  relations  and  reactions  of  dead  mat- 
ter with  which  he  is  concerned.  Mechanical  forces,  proc- 
esses and  results  occupy  him.  Not  the  transmutation  of 
lifeless  matter  into  living  forms,  not  the  relations  to  and 
reactions  upon  one  another  of  living  things,  not  the  watch- 
ing and  guidance  of  the  mysterious  principle  of  life  in  its 
growth;  not  the  endless,  various  and  fascinating  play  of 
ideas  in  the  construction  of  arguments,  in  discussion,  in  in- 
vention, in  the  building  of  systems  of  thought,  in  the  creation 
of  beautiful  ideals  —  none  of  these  things  is  the  object  of 
his  attention  in  his  work,  none  of  these  is  involved  in  the 
processes  of  his  work.  Crude  matter,  physical  forces, 
mechanical  processes  —  these  are  the  elements  with  and 
upon  which  he  works. 

Here  we  must  emphasize  a  principle  which  psychologists 
have  not  stressed  as  they  should.  Those  things  are  most 
real  to  a  man  to  which  he  spends  most  of  his  time  and 
energy  adjusting  himself.  One  can  get  a  lively  sense  of  the 
reality  of  anything  only  by  adjusting  himself  to  it  in  some 
way  or  other  —  by  working  with  and  upon  it;  and  those 
things  which  he  spends  most  of  his  time  and  energy  work- 
ing with  and  upon  will  inevitably  have  for  him  an  emphatic 


310  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

reality,  so  to  speak,  which  other  things  can  not  in  the  nature 
of  the  case  have.  This  is  a  well  accepted  principle  of  the 
science  of  education;  and  it  has  far-reaching  implications. 
This  is  wh}'  the  supersensible  world  of  ideas  and  systems  of 
ideas  is  so  real  and  engaging  to  the  philosopher  and  not  so 
to  other  men.  This  is  why  God  and  the  spiritual  world  are 
so  vitally  real  to  the  saint  and  such  shadowy  realities  to  most 
other  men.  But  we  need  not  multiply  illustrations  of  a  prin- 
ciple so  nearly  self-evident.  Apply  it  to  the  case  in  hand. 
Is  it  not  manifest  that  to  the  labourer,  engaged  as  we  have 
indicated,  matter  must  have  a  reality  which  less  obvious 
things  of  life  and  mind  can  not  possibly  have?  Is  not  the 
tendency  toward  materialism  of  the  crudest  type  inevitably 
inherent  in  the  very  nature  and  conditions  of  his  work? 
This  is  an  aspect  of  our  "  social  problem  "  which  is  worthy 
of  the  attention  of  every  thoughtful  man.  And  above  all 
other  men  it  should  be  chiefly  interesting  to  the  preacher. 

(c)  Relatively  speaking,  the  labouring  man  works  in  a 
social  vacuum.  The  occupations  vary  greatly  as  to  the 
number  and  value  of  the  social  contacts  involved  in  their 
pursuit.  Some  kinds  of  work  require  an  isolation  almost 
total  while  the  workers  are  engaged  in  them ;  others  require 
frequent  and  varied  contacts  with  men.  And  this  is  of  the 
greatest  importance  in  determining  the  value  of  an  occu- 
pation as  a  means  of  personal  development.  When  we  re- 
member that  personality  develops  chiefly,  if  not  exclusively, 
in  and  by  means  of  social  contacts,  the  reaction  of  persons 
upon  one  another,  it  becomes  obvious  that  the  work  which 
involves  social  isolation  is  of  the  least  value  in  this  respect. 
Being  insulated  from  his  fellows,  the  workingman  is  de- 
prived of  all  that  stimulation  which  comes  from  the  meet- 
ing of  men,  and  from  which  is  derived  so  much  of  the 
quickening  of  the  human  mind.  Of  course,  his  isolation  is 
not  absolute.  In  some  of  these  occupations  the  men  work 
in  companies,  or  "gangs,"  and  the  mere  presence  of  one's 
fellows  has  some  value,  because,  first,  it  prevents  loneli- 
ness, and,  second,  renders  possible  concerted  habitual  move- 


OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES  3!  I 

ments  or  the  correlation  of  successive  movements ;  and  the 
work  is  thereby  made  easier  and  more  pleasant.  But  such 
contact  has  only  a  minimum  of  intellectual  value.  Fre- 
quently the  workingman  is  fenced  off  by  prohibitions  — 
no  one  must  speak  to  him.  "  Don't  talk  to  the  motorman." 
The  worker  is  not  to  engage  in  conversation  with  his  fel- 
low workmen,  unless  some  exigency  should  require  consul- 
tation ;  and  outsiders  are  forbidden  to  approach  him.  And 
were  there  no  such  prohibitions,  the  nature  of  the  work 
usually  renders  conversation  impracticable.  From  eight  to 
twelve  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four,  according  to  the  length 
of  his  "  day,"  he  dwells  in  a  social  vacuum.  The  merchant, 
the  banker,  the  lawyer,  the  physician,  the  minister,  are,  in  and 
by  their  work,  brought  into  stimulating  contact  with  their  fel- 
low men.  They  work  in  a  tonic  social  medium.  The  higher 
brain  centres  are  developed  by  these  numerous  and  varied 
stimuli.  But  for  the  period  of  his  work  the  workingman 
is  often  almost  as  lonely  as  Robinson  Crusoe  without  his 
man  Friday,  He  has  his  machine  or  tool,  his  monotonous 
muscular  movements,  which  soon  become  semi-conscious; 
and  his  imagination  is  forbidden  to  wander  far  from  a  work 
which,  though  uninteresting,  tethers  his  mind  while  it  affords 
no  mental  stimulation.  Such  an  occupation  manifestly  has 
little  value  for  the  development  of  his  personality;  and  in 
this  respect  stands  in  sharp  contrast  with  many  other  forms 
of  work.  Sometimes  the  minister  or  the  merchant  or  the 
manufacturer  will  say  in  response  to  the  labourer's  demand 
for  shorter  hours :  "  I  work  ten  hours  a  day ;  why  should 
the  labourer  always  be  clamouring  for  a  shorter  day  ?  "  It 
is  an  utterly  thoughtless  remark,  and  absolutely  ignores  the 
essential  differences  in  the  nature  and  conditions  of  various 
forms  of  work. 

(2)  So  much  for  the  actual  labour  which  he  performs. 
Let  us  now  consider  the  relation  of  his  leisure  to  his  intel- 
lectual life.  We  need  to  enquire  both  as  to  its  length  and 
as  to  the  use  which  he  ordinarily  makes  of  it.  As  nearly  as 
I  can  ascertain  the  average  working  day  in  this  country  is 


312  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

about  nine  and  a  half  hours.  Allowing  nine  hours  for  eating 
and  sleeping,  we  are  safe  in  assuming  that  the  average 
labouring  man  has  approximately  five  and  a  half  hours  of 
leisure.  Within  this  time  he  must  satisfy  his  domestic  in- 
stincts in  association  with  his  family,  his  social  craving  for 
contact  with  his  fellows,  his  normal  desire  for  recreation  of 
some  sort,  and  whatever  appetite  he  may  have  for  reading. 
His  social  craving  will  be  strong,  because  this  fundamental 
and  ineradicable  instinct  has  had  little  opportunity  for  satis- 
faction in  the  course  of  his  work  —  has  rather  been  starved ; 
but  the  circle  of  companionship  within  which  it  must  be 
gratified  will  surely  have  little  in  it  to  stimulate  the  intellect 
or  to  refine  the  taste.  A  brain  deadened  by  the  uninterest- 
ing monotony  of  his  labour  and  unstimulated  by  quickening 
social  contacts  will  not  likely  be  impelled  toward  literature 
by  an  intense  hunger  for  knowledge. 

If  he  belongs  to  a  labour  union  that  proves  to  be  his  chief 
intellectual  school.  There  he  finds  much  satisfaction  of 
his  social  desires,  and  there  he  comes  in  contact  with  the 
most  vigorous  and  thoughtful  personalities  among  his  com- 
peers, Through  that  medium  he  becomes  acquainted  with 
the  literature  that  relates  to  the  most  obvious  interests  of 
his  life.  The  discussions  in  which  he  there  participates 
are  crude  enough,  to  be  sure,  and  the  literature  through 
which  his  mind  is  brought  into  contact  with  the  great 
world,  though  often  strong  and  keen  in  thought,  is  very 
narrow  in  its  general  outlook.  As  his  daily  labour  is  linked 
with  tools  and  machinery  and  the  material  things  which  they 
are  transforming,  so  the  discussions  and  the  literature  deal 
with  the  material  concerns  of  his  life.  But  limited  and 
crude  as  it  is,  the  educational  function  of  the  union  is  of 
inestimable  value  to  him  and  is  the  chief  agency  by  which 
any  intellectual  stimulation  comes  to  awaken  thought  and 
afford  a  basis  for  the  higher  development  of  his  personality. 

It  must  also  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  labouring  man 
usually  lives  in  a  city.  Cities  are  great  complex  social  ag- 
gregates. There  life  is  most  highly  differentiated,  most 


OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES  313 

various,  most  stimulating.  There  the  heights  and  depths  of 
life  are  visible ;  there  its  infinite  varieties  thrust  themselves 
upon  the  attention.  The  labouring  man  has  some  touch, 
even  though  it  be  a  minimum  touch,  with  that  vast  com- 
plexity of  life ;  and  his  intellect  is,  in  some  measure,  stimu- 
lated by  it  —  though  it  also  exposes  him  to  moral  tempta- 
tions which  are  peculiarly  adapted  to  appeal  to  his  weak- 
nesses and  too  often  lead  him  to  the  ruin  of  all  life's  values. 

II.  We  need  not  dwell  long  upon  the  effect  of  his  life- 
conditions  on  the  development  of  the  emotional  side  of  his 
personality.  The  emotional  life  is  limited  by  the  range  and 
variety  of  one's  experiences.  Each  experience  excites  in  us 
some  feeling.  The  greater  the  number  and  variety  of  these 
experiences,  the  greater  the  number  and  variety  of  emo- 
tional responses.  Everything  we  see,  hear,  touch,  read, 
think,  do,  has  its  reverberation,  so  to  speak,  in  the  feelings. 
The  man  who  is  able  to  travel  much,  to  move  through 
various  circles  of  society,  to  have  frequent  contact  with 
many  varieties  of  his  fellow  men,  to  see  nature  in  many  of 
its  ever-changing  aspects  and  moods,  to  read  widely  and  to 
bring  together  ideas  from  several  realms  of  knowledge,  to 
contemplate  works  of  art  appreciatively  —  he  will  have  a 
correspondingly  rich,  varied  and  delicately  shaded  emotional 
life.  Now,  it  is  exactly  in  these  respects  that  the  labouring 
man's  life  is  so  poor  and  narrowly  limited.  Hence  the 
poverty  of  his  emotional  life.  It  is  necessarily  crude.  We 
should  naturally  expect  what  we  actually  see  —  a  full  de- 
velopment of  the  fundamental,  crude  emotions,  with  but  lit- 
tle of  the  delicacy  and  refinement  of  sentiment  or  "  socialized 
emotion,"  as  it  has  been  called,  which  is  one  of  the  richest 
and  most  precious  fruits  of  culture. 

Moreover,  the  inhibitive  power  of  the  mind,  which  is  de- 
pendent upon  a  strong  organization  of  the  upper  brain  cen- 
tres —  the  power  to  arrest  impulse  and  control  emotion, 
which  is  the  sign-manual,  so  to  speak,  of  high  personality  — 
is  necessarily  deficient  in  him.  How  should  it  be  otherwise? 
As  compared  with  those  whose  life-conditions  tend  to  de- 


314  PSYCHOLOGY   AND  PREACHING 

velop  the  intellectual  and  inhibitive  mental  functions,  he  is 
impulsive,  easily  loses  mental  equilibrium  under  the  stress 
of  high  emotion,  is  mobbish  in  disposition  and  likely  to  be 
unrestrained  and  violent  in  the  expression  of  feeling. 

III.  It  is  even  more  important  to  study  his  ethical  pecu- 
liarities as  determined  by  the  conditions  of  his  life.  The 
conditions  which  react  so  powerfully  upon  his  intellectual 
and  emotional  life  must  have  an  important  determining 
effect  on  his  morality.  Whatever  may  be  one's  theory  of 
the  origin  of  the  moral  sense,  nobody  will  maintain  that  its 
genesis  is  to  be  found  in  the  experiences  of  the  personal  life ; 
but  it  certainly  is  indefinitely  modified  in  its  strength  and 
activity  by  the  practices  and  habits  of  personal  life.  Per- 
sonal habits  may  blunt  the  keenness  of  moral  perception, 
pervert  it,  give  it  a  onesided  development ;  and  thus  in  gen- 
eral determine  the  characteristics  of  the  moral  life.  Study- 
ing the  life  of  the  labouring  man  from  this  point  of  view,  we 
see  what  we  have  every  reason  to  expect,  that  in  the  primary 
virtues  of  truth  and  kindness  he  is  quite  the  peer  of  his  fel- 
low men.  His  life-conditions  tend  to  develop  these  funda- 
mental virtues  in  him  as  strongly  as  they  are  developed  in 
other  men,  possibly  somewhat  more  strongly.  Jane  Addams 
has  called  attention  to  the  kindness  of  the  poor  to  one 
another,1  and  no  one  is  better  equipped  by  experience,  sym- 
pathy and  scientific  insight  to  interpret  their  lives.  Though 
the  labourer  deals  with  reality  in  its  crudest  forms,  as  we 
have  pointed  out,  it  seems  certain  that  the  handling  of  phys- 
ical things  is  as  good  a  discipline  as  one  can  have  in  what 
we  may  call  the  truth-habit.  Physical  things  do  not  lie; 
they  act  according  to  their  laws;  they  do  not  deceive,  and 
you  can  not  deceive  them.  But  without  going  into  any  over- 
refinements,  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that  lying  is  a  social  vice 
which  arises  in  the  effort  to  mislead  other  men,  and  the 
labouring  man's  limited  social  relations  and  constant  em- 
ployment with  physical  things  afford,  at  most,  few  oppor- 
tunities to  serve  oneself  by  lying. 

1 "  Democracy  and  Social  Ethics,"  pp.  19-22. 


OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES  315 

There  are,  however,  certain  moral  dangers  which  arise 
from  the  labouring  man's  situation.  The  constant  overtax 
of  his  body,  the  dreary  monotony  of  his  work,  the  lack  of 
mental  stimulation  in  it,  and  all  too  frequently  his  under- 
feeding, render  him  an  especially  easy  victim  of  the  tempta- 
tion to  strong  drink.  Here  is  a  vital  point  at  which  the 
drink  problem  is  connected  with  our  industrial  system,  a 
matter  which  is  sometimes  overlooked  by  temperance  re- 
formers. Weary  in  body,  vacant  in  mind,  he  is  too  apt  to 
seek  in  the  saloon  the  social  contact  which  he  craves,  and  in 
alcohol  the  stimulation  for  his  nervous  system  which  has 
been  taxed  near  to  the  point  of  exhaustion  in  its  motor 
centres  and  left  unstimulated  in  its  higher,  inhibitive  func- 
tions; and  so  into  the  hell  of  drunkenness  he  too  often 
plunges,  both  pushed  and  pulled  by  forces  arising  from  the 
conditions  under  which  his  life  must  be  spent. 

We  must  consider,  also,  the  demoralizing  effect  of  ir- 
regularity of  employment.  Students  of  economics  stress  the 
evils  resulting  from  unemployment  and  irregular  employ- 
ment, which  they  find  to  be  caused  mainly  by  economic  mal- 
adjustment. "  Even  in  such  fat  years  as  1899,  1900,  1901, 
it  appears,  the  average  trade  unionist  loses  one  out  of  every 
five  or  six  working  days."  1  Booth  in  his  "  Life  and 
Labours  in  London  "  (quoted  in  Adams  and  Sumner)  says: 
"  The  irregularity  immediately  resulting  from  fluctuations 
in  demand,  seasons  and  other  causes  is  a  sufficiently  serious 
evil  in  itself,  but  other  results,  as  serious,  if  not  more  so, 
follow  in  its  track.  Casual  employment  is  found  almost 
invariably  to  involve  deterioration  in  both  the  physique  and 
character  of  those  engaged  in  it.  ...  The  hopeless  hand- 
to-mouth  existence  into  which  they  thus  tend  to  drift  is  of 
all  things  least  conducive  to  thrift ;  self-reliance  is  weakened, 
and  habits  of  idleness,  unsteadiness  and  intemperance  are 
formed.  .  .  .  The  effects  of  such  casual  work  are  even 
more  marked  in  the  next  generation/'  "  The  curse  of  the 
American  workingman,"  say  Adams  and  Sumner,  "  is  ir- 

1  Adams  and  Sumner,  "  Labor  Problems,"  p.  165. 


316  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

regular  employment."  Its  general  effect  upon  personality 
must  be  seriously  demoralizing.  It  might  be  cynically  re- 
marked that  it  adds  to  his  leisure,  for  which  he  so  stren- 
uously contends ;  but  it  does  not  do  so  in  such  a  way  as  to 
lead  to  a  regular  use  of  leisure  for  cultural  purposes.  It  is 
exceedingly  depressing  and  dissipating,  increases  anxiety, 
induces  recklessness,  and  tends  towards  moral  disintegra- 
tion generally. 

Moreover,  there  is  an  ethical  limitation  set  for  him  by 
his  life-conditions.  His  class  consciousness  is  intense. 
This,  it  seems,  can  not  be  otherwise.  With  the  possible  ex- 
ception of  the  very  rich,  the  labouring  men  constitute  the 
most  clearly  defined  class  in  our  society.  The  interests  and 
life-problems  of  this  class  are  of  the  most  urgent  kind. 
Those  interests  are,  indeed,  fundamental,  and  under  their 
pressure  the  labourers  are  being  irresistibly  compacted  and 
welded  into  a  distinct  social  group.  On  the  basis  of  those 
interests  it  is  simply  inevitable  that  there  should  grow  up  a 
class  consciousness  which  must  in  the  nature  of  things  be 
more  and  more  accentuated  by  all  the  rapidly  developing 
conditions  of  our  industrial  life.  It  is  worse  than  useless  to 
scold  the  labourers  for  it.  They  simply  can  not  help  it ;  and 
to  denounce  them  for  it  only  promotes  it,  and  at  the  same 
time  betrays  a  singular  lack  of  insight  into  the  sociological 
laws  that  are  at  work  around  us.  This  class  consciousness 
is  growing  extensively,  for  labouring  men  are  coming  more 
and  more  to  realize  their  essential  community  of  interests. 
Their  labour  organizations  —  an  absolute  necessity  for  their 
economic  salvation  —  promote  and  must  promote  it.  It 
must  also  develop  intensively.  Every  economic  struggle, 
whether  successful  or  unsuccessful,  must  inevitably  leave 
the  class  consciousness  stronger.  Class  consciousness  is 
only  the  realization  of  a  community  of  interests  by  a  number 
of  persons.  It  will  be  strong  in  proportion  as  those  interests 
are  felt  to  be  vital,  and  in  proportion  as  they  are  felt  to  be 
menaced.  The  clash  of  class  with  class  inevitably  deepens  it. 
There  are  only  two  possible  ways  to  dissipate  it.  One  is  to 


OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES  317 

satisfy  those  interests  which  by  a  universal  law  of  human 
nature  give  rise  to  it ;  the  other  is  absolutely  to  crush  out  the 
group.  The  latter  alternative  is  not  likely  to  be  undertaken. 

Now,  the  ethical  life  is  conditioned  by  the  group  con- 
sciousness, both  extensively  and  intensively.  One's  con- 
sciousness of  obligation  does  not  extend  beyond  the  limits 
of  his  group  consciousness.  If  there  is  no  fellow-feeling,  no 
"  consciousness  of  kind,"  there  is  no  sense  of  obligation  to 
another.  Likewise  as  this  group  consciousness  grows  in- 
tense or  becomes  attenuated,  the  feeling  of  obligation  be- 
comes more  or  less  imperative  or  positive.  I  am  not  now 
speaking  of  the  ultimate  nature  and  basis  of  moral  obliga- 
tion but  of  the  sphere  in  which  the  obligation,  whatever  its 
nature  and  basis,  is  felt  to  be  operative.  And,  subjectively 
considered,  moral  obligation  begins  with,  ends  with,  and 
varies  in  strength  with  our  consciousness  of  community  of 
life.  Furthermore,  it  is  a  fact  of  which  there  are  innum- 
erable examples  in  everyday  life  that  whenever  any  one 
group-feeling  becomes  intensified  or  inflamed,  it  tends  to 
dominate  consciousness  and  to  dwarf  or  exclude  every  con- 
trary sense  of  obligation  which  may  grow  out  of  any  other 
group  relation  in  which  one  may  stand.  For  instance,  we 
have  a  common  race  consciousness  with  a  limited  group, 
and  we  have  a  common  consciousness  of  humanity  with  a 
much  wider  group;  but  if  the  race  consciousness  has  been 
greatly  intensified  or  violently  inflamed  it  tends  to  dwarf  or 
to  drown  out  completely  the  obligations  of  humanity,  or 
vice  versa.  We  often  witness  the  appalling  fact  that  when 
different  social  classes  clash  and  grip  each  other  in  a  vital 
conflict,  every  broader  and  more  humane  consideration 
which  ordinarily  controls  or  modifies  the  actions  of  those 
involved  is  neglected;  and  then  we  have  in  very  truth  a 
death  struggle. 

How  these  laws  of  our  moral  experience  apply  in  the 
matter  we  are  discussing  is  apparent.  We  behold  the  fact 
which  so  often  startles  us  that  labouring  men  when  engaged 
in  a  combat  with  capital  will,  because  of  their  impulsiveness 


318  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

and  because  of  the  inflammation  of  their  class  conscious- 
ness, commit  violence  against  property  or  persons,  or  at  any 
rate  look  with  only  half-hearted  protest  upon  such  acts  when 
committed  in  their  interest.  And  with  equal  truth  it  may 
be  said  that  capitalists  are  frequently  guilty  of  acts  of  op- 
pression and  cruelty  which  are  not  a  whit  less  offensive  to 
our  common  humanity.  To  be  sure,  they  are  not  so  likely 
to  resort  to  personal  violence,  for  two  reasons  —  first,  they 
are  usually  more  highly  developed  in  personality  and  more 
self-controlled ;  second,  they  have  money  and  can  hire  ruf- 
fians to  do  acts  of  violence  for  them,  or  are  as  a  rule  in  con- 
trol of  the  machinery  of  the  law  and  can  use  the  force  of 
the  State  to  overcome  their  antagonists. 

The  labouring  class  are  bent  upon  securing  a  larger  share 
of  the  products  of  industry.  This  demand  is  in  the  very 
focus  of  their  class  consciousness.  Around  it  their 
thoughts,  ambitions,  struggles  revolve.  The  literature  they 
read  deals  with  it.  The  discussions  to  which  they  most  fre- 
quently and  most  interestedly  listen  and  in  which  they  take 
part  have  this  for  their  principal  subject  matter.  Is  it  any 
wonder  that  they  thus  tend  to  become  materialistic  in  their 
ideals?  For  our  ideals,  if  they  do  not  have  their  roots  in 
the  group  relations  in  which  we  stand,  are  most  certainly 
modified  by  them.  Are  not  our  ideals  mental  projections 
above  and  beyond  us  of  the  interests  we  are  seeking  to 
realize?  No  man  can  seriously  cherish  an  ideal  which  does 
not  receive  its  form  and  content  from  the  interest  which  is 
habitually  in  the  focus  of  his  consciousness.  This  is  true 
both  of  the  personal  and  the  social  ideals  toward  which  one 
strives.  We  should  expect,  therefore,  that  the  labouring 
man  would  become  materialistic  in  his  philosophy  of 
society,  seeing  in  the  economic  interest  the  determining  fac- 
tor in  social  evolution  and  in  the  general  satisfaction  of 
physical  wants  the  true  goal  of  social  progress. 

IV.  These  conditions  necessarily  react  powerfully  upon 
his  religious  life.  That  his  religious  conceptions  are  crude, 
as  the  inevitable  result  of  his  low  mental  development,  goes 


OCCUPATIONAL   TYPES  319 

without  saying.  In  his  emotional  life  he  most  readily  re- 
sponds to  the  cruder  stimuli.  In  so  far,  therefore,  as  the 
religious  motives  appeal  to  him  they  must  be  mainly  of  that 
sort ;  and  his  emotional  responses  are  likely  to  be  correspond- 
ingly impulsive,  demonstrative,  unregulated. 

But  of  far  more  consequence  is  the  fact  that,  on  account 
of  the  materialization  of  his  ideals,  he  is  drifting  beyond  the 
appeal  of  spiritual  religion ;  for  religion  must  reach  a  man 
through  his  ideals.  Furthermore,  he  is  drifting  out  of  sym- 
pathy with  organized  religion  in  general ;  for  he  is  persuaded 
—  and  with  some  measure  of  truth,  it  must  be  confessed  — 
that  organized  religion  stands  for  the  present  industrial 
order.  I  am  quite  disposed  to  believe  those  who  assure  us 
that  a  reaction  has  set  in;  but  if  it  be  true,  it  is  because 
organized  religion  gives  some  evidence  of  changing  its  at- 
titude. The  injustice  of  the  present  industrial  system  is 
the  uppermost  fact  in  the  consciousness  of  an  increasing 
number  of  wage  earners.  Organized  religion  has  come  to 
appear  to  many  of  them  as  an  institution  maintained  by  the 
economic  class  by  which  they  feel  themselves  to  be  ex- 
ploited ;  and  maintained  for  the  purpose  of  reconciling  them 
to  the  exploitation.  Believing  themselves  to  be  the  victims 
of  an  unrighteous  economic  arrangement,  their  attitude  of 
hostility  to  the  church  springs  both  from  their  most  keenly 
felt  material  interest  and  their  sense  of  righteousness. 
Now,  when  conscience  and  material  interest  conflict,  as  they 
so  often  do,  the  result  is  a  more  or  less  unstable  attitude; 
but  when  these  two  powerful  forces  combine  to  determine  a 
man's  attitude  the  result  is  a  positiveness  and  aggressive- 
ness which  have  to  be  seriously  reckoned  with.  Conscience 
and  material  interest  pulling  together  are  a  powerful  team. 
My  purpose  here  is  not  to  discuss  whether,  or  to  what  ex- 
tent, this  attitude  is  justifiable;  nor  to  offer  suggestions  as 
to  how  the  situation  is  to  be  remedied  and  the  disastrous 
breach  is  to  be  healed;  but  merely  to  trace  its  genesis  and 
to  indicate  how,  by  natural  sequence,  it  results  from  the 
labourer's  life  conditions.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  the  almost 


320  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

inevitable  psychological  outcome  of  those  conditions.  The 
more  seriously  this  situation  is  studied,  the  less  will  it  appear 
to  be  the  result  of  mere  perversity  or  depravity  on  the  part 
of  the  labouring  class;  on  the  contrary,  the  more  clearly 
will  it  appear  to  be  the  spiritual  resultant  of  social  condi- 
tions which  the  labourers  themselves  are  striving  to  abolish, 
somewhat  impulsively  and  blindly,  we  grant,  but  with  a 
strenuous  earnestness  which  is  not  lacking  in  ethical  enthu- 
siasm. For  preachers  and  churches  in  general  it  creates  a 
problem  of  the  utmost  importance.  Before  it  is  solved  it 
will  require  a  thoroughgoing  restudy  of  the  whole  ethical  and 
social  content  of  Christianity.  If  Christianity  has  a  prac- 
tical word  to  say  on  this  subject,  if  it  offers  a  solution,  or 
can  put  the  thought  of  this  age  into  a  path  that  leads  to  a 
solution,  it  is  certain  that  it  will  be  able  to  secure  a  sym- 
pathetic hearing  from  the  class  that  has  been  so  seriously 
alienated.  But  it  will  not  be  easy.  The  labouring  men  have 
come  to  think  of  the  problem  of  their  lives  in  terms  of  this 
world.  And  they  can  not  be  won  back  to  allegiance  to  Chris- 
tianity, i.e.,  organized  Christianity,  by  a  promise  of  compen- 
sation, in  the  world  to  come,  for  what  they  regard  as  mani- 
fest wrongs  which  the  church  will  not  antagonize  here. 

It  is  manifest  that  the  economic  situation  has  become  at 
heart  a  spiritual  problem.  Go  deep  enough  into  it,  and  you 
always  strike  a  spiritual  core.  The  demand  is  not  that  the 
church  shall  leave  her  proper  sphere  and  busy  herself  with 
issues  that  are  foreign  to  her  mission ;  but  that  she  shall  un- 
dertake to  grapple  with  and  solve  a  problem  which  has 
arisen  within  her  proper  sphere,  and  which  has  its  roots  in 
the  life  conditions  of  those  to  whom  she  is  commissioned  to 
minister.  It  may  be  improper  for  the  church,  a  spiritual 
institution,  to  invade  an  alien  territory  and  undertake  to  set 
things  right  there ;  but  the  fact  is  that  the  economic  forces 
have  invaded  the  spiritual  realm  and  are  working  havoc 
there.  It  is  surely  a  significant  phenomenon  that  there  is 
today  a  growing  hostility  towards  the  church  within  the  very 
class  among  whom  the  Lord  of  the  church  found  his  most 


OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES  321 

sympathetic  hearers.  And  how  can  the  modern  preacher 
claim  to  represent  his  Master,  if  that  class  turns  from  him 
in  the  conviction  that  he  is  blind  to  the  inequitable  conditions 
which  are  breeding  spiritual  disaster,  or  is  afraid  to  speak 
out  when  he  sees  them? 

III.   THE  BUSINESS   TYPE 

For  the  purpose  of  this  discussion,  business  may  be  de- 
fined as  the  direction  of  industry  in  the  production  and 
distribution  of  material  goods.  The  business  man  may  be 
simply  a  capitalist,  an  investor,  who  stands  at  some  distance 
from  the  actual  conduct  of  the  industry;  or  he  may  be  re- 
lated to  it  both  as  investor  and  director;  or  he  may  be  the 
manager  of  a  corporate  industry;  or  he  may  be  manager  of 
a  subordinate  department  of  such  an  industry;  or  he  may 
be  conducting  a  small  business  in  which  he  is  the  sole,  or 
chief  investor,  and  of  which  he  is  the  executive  head.  If  in 
any  shape  or  form  he  has  the  direction  of  industry,  he  may 
be  classed  as  a  "  business  man." 

But  here  a  distinction  must  be  noted  which  we  shall  have 
to  bear  in  mind  throughout  the  discussion.  The  manage- 
ment or  direction  of  business  corporations  is  to  be  broadly 
differentiated  from  the  conduct  of  an  individual  business. 
The  partnership  is  an  intermediate  or  transitional  form. 
The  more  deeply  one  meditates  upon  it,  the  more  clearly 
will  he  perceive  the  far-reaching  significance  of  this  distinc- 
tion. It  is  not  so  apparent  nor  so  significant  when  the  cor- 
poration is  a  small  one,  though  the  distinction  is  real  even 
then;  but  when  the  corporation  becomes  very  large  it  is 
obvious  and  impressive.  In  corporations  the  relations  in- 
volved become  extensive  and  decidedly  more  impersonal. 
In  an  individual  business  the  relations  between  the  business 
man  and  his  employees  and  customers  are  definitely  personal. 
To  be  sure,  as  the  individual  business  becomes  large  and 
complex  the  relations  involved  lose  much  of  their  personal 
character ;  but  at  the  same  time  the  business  tends  to  assume 
the  corporate  form,  and  especially  to  use  corporate  methods. 


322  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

The  distinction  between  the  individual  and  corporate  forms 
of  business  is  important  for  this  discussion  because  they  tend 
to  produce  somewhat  different  mental  types,  and  the  larger 
the  corporate  business  becomes  the  more  pronounced  is  the 
differentiation.  The  man  of  "  big  business  "  is  a  definite 
and  extremely  significant  species  of  the  genus  "  business 
man,"  and  is,  it  seems  to  me,  the  logical  though  somewhat 
exaggerated  development  of  the  type  which  corporate  ac- 
tivity, so  characteristic  a  feature  of  our  time,  tends  to  pro- 
duce. And  yet  an  undue  emphasis  on  this  distinction  would 
not  be  consistent  with  the  purpose  we  have  here  in  mind, 
which  is  to  bring  out  those  broad  mental  characteristics 
which  are  common  to  business  men  of  all  grades. 

I.  Consider  the  importance  of  the  business  man.  In  the 
early  ages  of  the  world  he  was  either  non-existent,  or  insig- 
nificant and  despised.  Under  the  system  of  strict  clan 
economy  business  men  did  not  exist  as  a  differentiated 
class;  under  the  system  of  domestic,  or  household,  economy 
the  class  began  to  develop,  and  the  business  men  were 
mostly  travelling  salesmen  who  went  hither  and  thither, 
generally  in  groups,  wherever  the  danger  was  not  too  great, 
and  carried  with  them  the  goods  they  had  for  sale.  The 
pedlar  is  a  survival  of  that  early  type.  Under  the  system  of 
town  economy,  which  followed,  manufactures  in  the  literal 
sense  of  the  term  developed,  business  grew  in  volume,  and 
the  men  engaged  in  it  increased  in  importance.  As  the  sys- 
tem of  national  economy  grew  up  on  the  basis  of  the  town 
system,  the  business  men  came  to  figure  largely  in  public 
estimation.  Today  we  live  in  a  world  economy ;  the  manu- 
facture and  exchange  of  goods  have  assumed  enormous  pro- 
portions and  absorbed  the  energies  of  a  large  proportion  of 
the  people ;  the  direction  of  industry  offers  a  very  great  and 
attractive  field  for  personal  achievement  and  the  winning  of 
fortune  and  distinction,  and  requires  ability  of  a  high  order. 
It  is  quite  impossible  to  foresee  any  limit  to  this  economic 
development.  Certainly  it  is  drawing  into  its  service  larger 
volumes  of  human  energy  every  day.  Men  are  now  enam- 


OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES  323 

cured  of  the  great  task  of  mastering  nature  and  organizing 
natural  forces  in  the  service  of  human  need.  Each  new 
advance  in  this  movement  opens  to  view  yet  greater  pos- 
sibilities. In  the  meantime  the  economic  organization  has 
seemed  to  become  a  vast  and  powerful  system,  independent 
of  the  individuals  engaged  in  it,  which  masters  and  moulds 
the  multitudes  of  men  whom  it  draws  into  its  varied  ac- 
tivities.1 Business  men  have  come  naturally  in  this  business 
age  to  be  the  dominant  class  in  society.  This  is  true  even 
in  Europe,  where  the  stratification  of  society  based  on  the 
Feudal  System  yet  persists,  and  is  coming  to  be  so  even  in 
the  Orient,  so  recently  invaded  by  modern  ideas  and 
methods.  In  the  United  States  the  evolution  of  the  business 
man  into  the  personage  of  dominant  power  is  most  com- 
plete. 

In  politics  it  is  a  recognized  fact  that  no  man  can  hope  to 
be  elected  to  any  office  of  importance  who  has  the  business 
men  opposed  to  him.  Politics  are  more  and  more  concerned 
with  economic  questions ;  and  in  one  way  or  another  business 
is  so  closely  connected  with  political  organization,  manage- 
ment and  aims  that  politics  might  not  unfairly  be  called  a 
branch  of  business.  The  money  which  corporations  expend 
in  political  activity  is  a  regular  item  in  their  expense  ac- 
count. A  policy  that  hurts  business  is  on  that  account  con- 
demned ;  if  it  encourages  and  fosters  business,  that  is  the 
end  of  controversy.  In  the  State,  business  rules,  and  that 
means  that  business  men  are  the  ruling  class.  But  is  it  not 
equally  true  in  the  church?  In  the  local  church  business 
men  dominate  in  fact,  whether  they  do  in  form  or  not ;  and 
in  general  denominational  affairs  their  influence  is  tran- 
scendant  whenever  they  feel  enough  interest  to  bring  it  to 
bear.  The  local  congregation  and  the  general  ecclesiastical 
body  have  to  be  financed  in  all  their  enterprises,  and  church 
enterprises,  whether  local  or  general,  and  especially  the  lat- 
ter, are  projected  on  an  ever  larger  scale ;  which  means  that 
the  financial  liberality  of  business  men  must  be  relied  on 

1  See  Sombart's  "  Der  Bourgeois,"  p.  446,  ff. 


324  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

more  and  more.  But  he  who  holds  the  purse  strings  wields 
the  power  in  any  enterprise  which  must  be  financed.  It  is 
claimed  by  many  observers  that  we  have  entered  a  period  of 
plutocracy  in  religious  affairs,  as  well  as  in  politics.  But  it 
is  not  the  purpose  to  discuss  that  question  here.  The  fact 
to  which  attention  is  called  seems  to  be  an  inevitable  inci- 
dent of  the  trend  of  things  in  this  age ;  and  is  mentioned  here 
not  for  the  purpose  of  dwelling  upon  its  social  and  spiritual 
implications,  but  in  order  to  emphasize  the  importance  for 
the  preacher,  as  well  as  for  all  other  social  leaders,  of  un- 
derstanding the  modern  business  type  of  mind. 

2.  What  are  the  characteristics  of  that  type  ? 

(i)  Let  us  consider  the  intellectual  characteristics. 

In  the  first  place,  the  typical  business  man  is  keen  and 
alert.  He  must  be  so  or  he  will  soon  cease  to  be  a  business 
man,  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  word,  and  become  the  em- 
ploye of  some  man  who  has  these  mental  qualities.  It  is 
possible,  of  course,  to  refer  to  individual  cases  in  which 
men  who  are  slow  and  dull  in  mind  are,  by  reason  of  pecu- 
liar conditions,  able  to  maintain  the  status  of  business  men ; 
but  when  closely  studied  these  apparent  exceptions  will  only 
prove  the  rule.  The  business  man  is  often  dealing  with 
conditions  which  are  complex,  changeful  and  urgent.  Suc- 
cess requires  quick,  clear  insight,  rapid  analysis  of  the  sit- 
uation into  its  incidental  and  essential  features,  the  instant 
seizing  of  the  main  point  and  prompt  decision.  If  his  intel- 
lectual operations  are  unreliable  or  too  slow,  the  penalty  is 
that  he  drops  from  among  the  directors  of  industry.  He 
can  not  afford  to  nod  at  his  post ;  he  must  "  keep  his  eyes 
open  "  and  his  wits  about  him.  And  not  only  does  success 
presuppose  a  considerable  measure  of  these  intellectual 
qualities ;  practice  develops  them.  The  intensifying  compe- 
tition of  modern  business,  the  continually  quickening  pace  in 
the  whole  economic  sphere  and  the  growing  complexity  of 
the  conditions  with  which  the  business  man  must  deal  make 
it  more  and  more  imperative  that  he  shall  possess  and  cul- 


OCCUPATIONAL   TYPES  325 

tivate  mental  alertness  and  discrimination.  A  relentless 
process  of  economic  selection  is  ever  going  on. 

In  the  second  place,  it  is  equally  true  that  the  typical  busi- 
ness man's  intellectual  life  is  quite  limited  in  range.  His 
intellectual  views  and  habits  are  formed  for  the  most  part 
in  first-hand  dealings  with  men  and  things.  Too  often  he  is 
educated  in  business  and  by  business  only.  To  be  sure,  an 
increasing  number  of  business  men  are  college  bred;  even 
the  university  man  is  not  so  much  a  rara  avis  among  them 
as  he  used  to  be.  And  so  a  larger  proportion  of  men  of  this 
class  have  been  brought  into  some  acquaintance  with  the 
wider  ranges  of  intellectual  life  than  was  ever  the  case 
before.  But  even  they  usually  succumb  to  the  mental 
habits  developed  by  "  the  street " ;  settle  down  to  the  dis- 
tinctive point  of  view  of  business,  and  lose  all  lively  interest 
in  the  intellectual  problems  not  directly  involved  in  the  ur- 
gencies of  their  daily  lives.  That  tendency  is  quite  natural, 
just  as  it  is  with  men  in  every  other  walk  of  life;  and  yet 
it  is  probable  that  in  most  lines  of  business  the  pressure  is  so 
high,  the  possibilities  of  failure  so  numerous,  and  the  ma- 
terial rewards  of  success  so  alluring  to  average  human  na- 
ture, that  his  work  monopolizes  the  energies  of  the  business 
man  to  an  exceptional  degree,  and  thus  sets  very  definite 
limits  to  his  intellectual  outlook,  while  stimulating  power- 
fully his  intellectual  processes  within  those  limits.  For 
this  reason  the  mental  processes  and  habits  of  his  occu- 
pation become  more  deeply  stamped  in,  and  the  point  of 
view  of  his  occupation  more  fixed  than  is  the  case  with 
most  other  men. 

In  the  third  place,  the  business  man  is  little  given  to 
theorizing.  He  is  absorbed  in  dealing  with  living  persons, 
concrete  things,  actual  situations  that  are  constantly  chang- 
ing. Perforce  he  must  cultivate  the  opportunist  habit  of 
mind.  From  one  day's  end  to  another  he  is  engaged  in 
measuring  the  strength  and  direction  of  the  more  obvious 
and  objective  forces  that  are  playing  about  him,  and  has  little 
time  for  inquiring  into  their  ultimate  origin,  history  and 


326  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

final  goal.  He  is  in  the  thick  of  the  fray;  he  does  not 
occupy  a  detached  position  of  passionless  observation, 
where  he  can  speculate,  correlate,  theorize.  In  fact  he  fails 
to  appreciate  the  value  of  theory;  he  is  not  likely  to  have 
much  regard  for  the  theory  of  business  itself.  His  ideas 
of  men  and  things  are  such  as  grow  up,  without  philosophical 
reflection,  as  a  net  result  of  the  actual  tussle  of  business 
dealing  with  them.  Normally  his  mind  moves  in  the  region 
of  proximate  or  secondary  causes.  Rarely  does  he  make 
the  effort  to  penetrate  to  primary  causes ;  or  if  he  does,  sec- 
ondary are  apt  to  appear  to  him  to  be  primary  causes. 
Whatever  may  be  the  ultimate  explanation  of  any  state  of 
things,  it  must,  so  he  reasons,  be  dealt  with  here  and  now ; 
and  when  the  practical  adjustment  is  found,  his  interest  in 
the  matter  terminates.  Hence  we  call  him  a  "  practical 
man,"  and  that  title  pleases  him  better  than  any  other.  Re- 
calling a  distinction  previously  made,1  we  may  say  that,  as 
a  rule,  his  mental  system  has  been  built  up  unreflectively.  I 
do  not  mean  to  say  that  he  does  not  reflect  much.  He  re- 
flects a  great  deal  upon  the  practical  problems  of  his  busi- 
ness ;  but  the  concepts  which  thus  grow  up  in  his  mind  are 
usually  not  logically  analysed  and  worked  over  so  as  to 
secure  theoretical  consistency.  The  meanings  which  he  or- 
dinarily attaches  to  the  words  with  which  he  is  most  familiar 
are  the  use  or  functional  meanings,  quite  sufficient  to  guide 
his  practical  activity,  but  lacking  the  clear  distinction,  fine 
discrimination  and  broad  comprehensiveness  of  theoretical 
thought. 

In  the  fourth  place,  he  is  given  to  a  quantitative  evaluation 
of  things.  He  is  in  the  habit  of  dealing  with  things  that  can 
be  weighed,  measured,  counted,  calculated;  and  tends 
through  force  of  habit  to  estimate  everything  in  such  terms. 
His  type  does  not  get  hold  of  a  thing  securely  and  satisfac- 
torily until  it  has  in  some  way  been  quantitatively  expressed. 
A  singularly  interesting  expression  of  this  tendency  as  seen 
in  religion  has  been  observed  in  the  Layman's  Missionary 

i  See  Chap.  III. 


OCCUPATIONAL   TYPES  327 

Movement.  As  soon  as  the  business  men  took  up  the  mis- 
sionary propaganda  seriously  they  began  to  calculate  —  how 
many  people  are  there  in  the  world  who  have  not  heard  the 
Gospel?  How  many  people  can  a  single  missionary  be  ex- 
pected to  reach  in  his  life-time?  How  many  missionaries, 
on  this  basis,  is  it  necessary  to  send  out  in  order  to  carry  out 
the  Great  Commission  in  this  generation  ?  How  much  will  it 
take  to  support  one  missionary?  Manifestly  that  would 
be  a  business-like  carrying  out  of  the  Commission;  but 
manifestly  also  it  would  be  a  rather  mechanical  performance. 
There  are  non-measurable  and  non-calculable  elements  of 
the  problem  which  it  does  not  take  into  consideration,  and 
they  are  the  most  vital  and  spiritual  elements  in  it.  In  any 
other  sphere  this  type  of  mind  is  likely  to  proceed  in  the 
same  way.  Often  the  tendency  is  to  substitute  a  quanti- 
tative for  a  qualitative  standard.  What  is  a  man  worth? 
That  means,  how  many  dollars  is  he  worth?  The  price  of 
a  picture  often  determines  its  grade  as  a  work  of  art.  It 
is  not  such  a  grossly  materialistic  attitude  of  mind  as  it 
seems  to  be ;  but  indicates  rather  the  necessity  for  this  type 
of  mind  of  having  some  calculable  measure  of  excellence, 
and  calculation  is  a  process  of  measuring  things  quanti- 
tatively. We  must  bear  in  mind  the  principle  that  men 
have  the  keenest  sense  of  the  reality  of  those  things  with 
which  they  are  constantly  dealing.  It  is  much  the  same  in 
estimating  results.  Concerning  any  plan,  program  or 
movement  a  man  of  this  mental  type  wishes  to  know  what 
will  be  the  "  practical  result,"  and  by  practical  result  is 
meant  a  result  that  can  be  seen,  calculated,  measured.  By 
this  "  rough  and  ready "  standard  all  ideas,  theories,  doc- 
trines are  judged.  The  development  of  this  type  of  mind  is 
the  inevitable  resultant  of  the  fact  that  in  this  industrial 
and  commercial  age  the  activities  of  the  great  majority  of 
men,  and  especially  the  dominant  class  of  men,  are  chiefly 
occupied  with  handling  measurable  quantities.  It  is  an  in- 
teresting fact  that  with  the  development  of  modern  industrial 
capitalism  the  demand  for  exactness  of  measurement  and 


328  PSYCHOLOGY   AND  PREACHING 

calculation  has  steadily  grown  and  exact  book-keeping  has 
become  a  highly  developed  art,  a  business  habit  and  an  in- 
dispensable condition  of  success,1  and  it  is  one  of  the  in- 
fluences which  accentuate  the  mode  of  thought  we  are 
describing. 

(2)  This  mental  type  is  marked  by  certain  ethical  pecu- 
liarities. 

(a)  It  deals  with  ethical  very  much  as  it  does  with  intel- 
lectual questions.  Such  a  man  gives  little  attention  to  the 
theoretical  aspects  of  ethical  questions;  his  test  is,  What  is 
the  "  practical "  result?  He  does  not  trouble  himself  very 
much  as  to  abstract  principles  of  right  and  wrong.  To  arouse 
his  enthusiasm  in  a  moral  cause  you  should  show  him  two 
things :  First,  that  the  evil  you  are  attacking  is  a  practical 
injury  to  men,  i.e.,  produces  injurious  effects  which  can  be 
seen  and  measured.  Those  moral  or  immoral  acts  which  are 
striking,  vivid,  dramatic,  measurable,  impress  him  most. 
If  you  can  make  him  see  that  the  injury  is  economic  also, 
you  are  the  more  likely  to  win  him ;  not  because  he  makes 
the  interests  of  business  the  standard  of  right  and  wrong, 
but  because  business  prosperity  is  a  value  of  the  obvious, 
measurable,  "  practical "  kind  which  appeals  to  him 
most  strongly.  He  can  perceive  and  feel  the  evil  of  any- 
thing much  more  keenly  when  he  sees  its  injurious  economic 
effects.  Again  we  emphasize  the  principle  —  the  form  of 
reality  which  is  most  real  to  a  man  is  that  with  which  he 
deals  most.  Second,  you  must  make  him  see  that  your  plan 
of  opposition  promises  "  practical "  results  under  conditions 
as  they  are.  He  has  little  patience  with  what  seem  to  him 
to  be  the  visionary  programs  of  theoretical  men.  In  his 
daily  contact  with  the  world  he  has  to  adjust  himself  to 
existing  conditions  and  be  satisfied  to  accept  the  half  loaf 
when  he  cannot  get  the  whole  one;  and  that  seems  to  him 
to  be  the  sensible  thing  in  all  struggles  for  moral  improve- 
ment. Yet  the  game  does  not  seem  to  him  to  be  worth  the 
candle  if  the  struggle  does  not  give  a  definite  promise  of  an 

1  Sombart's  "  Der  Bourgeois,"  p.  18. 


OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES  329 

improvement  which  is  obvious  and  measurable,  and  within 
a  measurable  time. 

(b)  The  typical  business  man  emphasizes  the  virtues  that 
lie  at  the  basis  of  successful  business.  First  in  the  list 
would  doubtless  be  honesty,  which  is  the  form  of  the  general 
virtue  of  truthfulness  or  integrity  that  has  acquired  a  rather 
definite  business  significance.  In  the  early  days  when  busi- 
ness first  appeared  as  a  distinct  occupation  it  was  associated 
with  deceit,  misrepresentation,  dishonesty.  But  as  the  man- 
ufacture and  exchange  of  goods  have  gradually  come  to  be 
vast  and  highly  differentiated  activities  in  which  innumer- 
able multitudes  of  people  are  engaged  and  knit  together  in 
ten  thousand  interdependent  relations,  it  has  become  increas- 
ingly necessary  to  stress  the  virtue  of  honesty.  Business 
relations  under  modern  conditions  are  impossible  unless  the 
business  representations  of  men  can  be  generally  relied  upon, 
especially  when  they  enter  into  definite  engagements.  The 
sacredness  of  contracts  is  the  corner-stone  of  the  modern 
economic  structure.  To  change  the  figure,  we  may  call  it  the 
key-stone  of  the  arch  of  business.  Without  it  the  whole  edi- 
fice would  collapse.  It  has  come  to  be  recognized  as  the 
chief  function  of  the  law  to  guard  contracts  and  the  right  of 
free  contract.  Honesty,  therefore,  in  the  sense  of  strict  re- 
liability in  one's  business  promises,  is  a  virtue  which  has  the 
very  emphatic  sanction  of  the  modern  economic  mind. 
Promptness  in  keeping  engagements  is  another.  In  the  early 
period  of  the  modern  capitalistic  era  industry  was  much  em- 
phasized, and  is  still  stressed  among  those  who  are  engaged 
in  individual  businesses,  and  as  a  virtue  of  employes  is  yet 
everywhere  felt  to  be  imperative ;  but  it  is  not  felt  as  binding 
upon  themselves  by  the  class  of  idle  capitalists,  whose  main 
relation  to  economic  activity  is  to  clip  coupons  and  endorse 
dividend  checks.  And  the  development  of  this  class  is,  it  is 
to  be  feared,  modifying  for  the  worse  our  ideal  in  this  re- 
spect. In  the  early  days  of  the  present  economic  era  fru- 
gality was  also  a  most  highly  praised  virtue;  but  with  the 
vast  increase  in  wealth  in  recent  decades  and  the  consequent 


33O  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

general  trend  toward  luxurious  living  and  self-indulgence, 
it  is  losing  imperativeness,  if  not  falling  into  disrepute  among 
the  well-to-do  classes,  and  through  their  example  lies  lightly 
upon  the  consciences  of  the  poor.  Diligence  and  loyalty  on 
the  part  of  employes  are  heavily  emphasized  as  moral  obli- 
gations throughout  the  business  world;  but  it  is  worthy  of 
note  that  the  reciprocal  obligations  on  the  part  of  employers 
have  been  much  more  tardy  in  acquiring  social  imperative- 
ness, and  even  yet  have  not  done  so  in  anything  like  the 
same  measure.  It  is  only  another  indication  of  the  fact  that 
business  men  are  the  dominant  class  in  our  society,  and, 
therefore,  set  our  standards.  Naturally  they  perceive  more 
readily  and  feel  more  keenly  the  obligations  of  employes 
than  they  do  their  own,  and  so  place  the  stress.  Sobriety, 
or  temperance,  the  abstention  from  intoxicating  drinks,  is  a 
requirement  felt  throughout  the  business  world  to  be 
almost  as  imperative  as  honesty,  for  the  obvious  rea- 
son that  the  opposite  vice  inevitably  leads  to  economic  dis- 
aster in  one  way  or  another.  Of  course,  other  influences 
also  have  contributed  to  the  exaltation  of  this  virtue. 

(c)  The  business  man  accepts,  more  or  less  subcon- 
sciously, a  double  standard  of  ethics.  Sombart 1  has  called 
attention  to  a  phase  of  recent  ethical  development,  which 
though  not  obvious  at  first,  is  full  of  interest.  With  the 
growth  of  the  elaborate  modern  economic  organization,  cer- 
tain virtues  —  such  as  frugality  and  solidity,  or  reliability  — 
are  "  objectivised,"  i.e.,  they  come  to  be  attached  to  the  char- 
acter and  conduct  of  the  business  enterprise  itself  rather 
than  to  the  personal  character  and  conduct  of  the  business 
man.  This  is  due  to  the  fact  that  the  business  has  become 
corporate  and  impersonal  rather  than  individual  and  per- 
sonal. For  instance,  the  great  business  corporation  is  man- 
aged according  to  the  strictest  economy  —  no  waste  is  per- 
mitted ;  but  in  their  personal  lives  the  capitalistic  owners  of 
the  business  may  use  the  money  thus  frugally  acquired  in  the 
most  lavish  and  wasteful  expenditures.  And  the  corpora- 
1 "  Der  Bourgeois,"  p.  336,  ff. 


OCCUPATIONAL   TYPES  33! 

tion  may  be  thoroughly  solid  and  reliable,  honest  to  the  core, 
when  so  much  could  not  be  said  of  the  personal  character 
and  conduct  of  the  several  share-holders.  Obviously  this 
can  hardly  be  the  case  before  the  business  has  been  thor- 
oughly differentiated  from  the  personality  of  the  business 
man.  The  moral  character  of  the  owner  of  an  individual 
business  is  necessarily  reflected  in  large  measure  in  the  moral 
character  of  the  business. 

But  it  is  also  true  —  and  this  is  of  far  greater  signifi- 
cance—  that  the  business  may  be  conducted  according  to 
ethical  principles  far  lower  than  those  which  control  the 
private  and  personal  life  of  the  business  man.  Hence  we 
may  frequently  observe  the  anomaly  of  a  corporation  com- 
posed of  upright  and  benevolent  individuals  coolly  adopting 
and  ruthlessly  prosecuting  a  business  policy  which  overrides 
all  righteousness  as  well  as  benevolence.  And  the  business 
man  does  not  seem  to  realize  that  he  is  living  according  to 
wholly  inconsistent  standards  of  conduct.  The  notion  seems 
to  have  grown  up  that  business  has  a  code  of  its  own,  dif- 
ferent from  the  ethics  of  personal  relations ;  and  the  notion 
has  developed  in  clearness  with  the  growth  of  corporate  as 
distinguished  from  individual  enterprise.  Out  of  these  con- 
ditions arise  some  of  the  most  serious  ethical  and  social 
problems  of  our  time.  "  Business  is  business  " —  this  verb- 
ally self-evident  but  morally  questionable  proposition  is  only 
a  euphemistic  form  in  which  business  asserts  its  independ- 
ence of  the  accepted  standards  of  personal  ethics.  This  is 
not  the  place  to  attempt  the  solution  of  the  problem  —  but 
it  is  far-reaching  in  its  moral  import,  and  most  emphatically 
challenges  the  attention  of  the  minister. 

In  his  personal  disposition  and  action  the  business  man  is 
usually  kindly  and  generous.  In  former  days,  after  the 
business  class  had  attained  to  a  position  of  thorough  respect- 
ability but  before  the  rise  of  the  capitalistic  economy,  the 
standards  that  regulated  personal  conduct  were  recognized 
as  obligatory  in  business  also,  though  it  is  doubtful  if 
kindness  and  consideration  for  others  were  so  much  em- 


332  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

phasized  as  they  now  are  in  personal  relations.  As  the 
business  man's  life  has  become  sharply  differentiated  into 
corporate  and  personal  conduct,  the  ethical  standard  of  the 
former  has  in  some  important  respects  fallen  while  that  of 
the  latter  has  on  the  whole  probably  risen.  As  man  to  man, 
he  is,  as  a  rule,  lenient  or  even  indulgent  in  his  judgment 
of  others,  courteous,  kind,  self-sacrificing,  ready  to  help, 
with  an  ear  always  open  to  the  cry  of  need.  Never,  per- 
haps, have  these  virtues  been  so  much  in  the  ascendant  in 
personal  relations  as  they  are  today  when  the  business  man 
is  dominant.  Of  course,  it  will  be  borne  in  mind  that  the 
effort  is  to  characterize  a  class,  a  type  to  which  there  are 
many  individual  exceptions.  But  certainly  as  general  prop- 
ositions the  foregoing  statements  can  hardly  be  called  in 
question. 

(3)  Most  important  of  all,  for  our  purpose,  are  the 
business  man's  religious  peculiarities.  These,  however,  may 
be  considered  as  the  outgrowth  of  his  intellectual  and  moral 
qualities. 

(a)  He  is  non-mystical.     Being  accustomed  to  deal  with 
things  which  are  substantial  and  can  be  measured,  weighed, 
counted,  there  is  little  mysticism  in  his  mental  make-up.     Its 
vagueness  baffles  and  offends  him.     To  the  type  of  mind 
formed  in  economic-experience,  mystical-experience  appears 
unreal,  a  dealing  with  shadows  —  nay,  not  shadows,   for 
shadows  are  cast  by  substantial  realities  — •  but  rather  ghostly 
figments,  to  which  nothing  actual  corresponds.     The  typical 
economic  man  would  spell  the  word  a  little  differently,  but  to 
his  mind  more  appropriately  —  misticism.     And  yet  mysti- 
cism is  very  deeply  rooted  in  the  mental  life  of  man,  and  it  is 
very  hard  to  eradicate  it  altogether;  and  sometimes  it  co- 
exists with  a  decidedly  economic  turn  of  mind.     But  strictly 
speaking  it  is  not  consistent  with  this  mental  type;  and  I 
venture  to  affirm  that  the  mystical  type  of  Christian  experi- 
ence has  declined  in  proportion  as  the  economic  type  of  mind 
has  become  general  and  dominant. 

(b)  He  is  non-theological.     To  him  theology  seems  the- 


OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES  333 

oretical  and  impractical ;  and,  since  he  does  not  take  much 
to  theory  and  does  take  decidedly  to  the  practical,  theologi- 
cal doctrines  and  creedal  formularies  do  not  appeal  to  him 
strongly.  Hence  questions  as  to  orthodoxy  and  heresy  do 
not,  as  a  rule,  interest  him  very  much.  He  fancies  that  he 
does  not  see  any  essential  difference  between  the  practical 
conduct  of  those  who  make  much  of  their  orthodoxy  and 
that  of  those  who  are  accounted  heretical  —  and  the  practical 
conduct  of  contending  theological  groups  often  seems  to  him 
to  fall  below  the  impersonal  standards  recognized  in  com- 
petitive business.  He  is  broadly  tolerant  in  matters  of  re- 
ligious opinion;  and  his  tolerance  grows  partly  out  of  his 
indifference  as  to  opinions  which  cannot  be  submitted  to  the 
rough  and  ready  tests  which  he  is  in  the  habit  of  applying. 
Moreover,  he  is  strenuously  occupied  with  quite  different 
matters,  and  is  a  firm  believer  in  the  division  of  labour,  and 
therefore  leaves  matters  of  theology  to  be  settled  by  the  min- 
isters of  his  religious  group  as  a  part  of  their  function  — 
willing  enough  to  leave  such  troublesome,  and  as  he  thinks, 
relatively  unimportant  affairs  to  those  who  have  a  taste  for 
them.  Of  course,  many  business  men  prefer  that  their 
pastors  be  orthodox  —  whatever  that  may  mean  —  because 
heresy  has  a  bad  sound  and  is  usually  disturbing ;  and  men 
of  naturally  conservative  disposition  oppose  heresy  simply 
on  the  ground  that  it  disturbs  the  established  order.  But 
this  attitude  is  far  from  being  universal.  Others  like  the 
taste  of  heresy  in  the  pulpit,  because  it  breaks  the  monotony ; 
and  they  champion  the  heretical  minister,  not  so  much  be- 
cause they  regard  his  particular  opinions  as  matters  of  first- 
rate  importance,  as  because  they  think  his  non-conformity  a 
sign  of  independence  of  spirit  —  and  they  believe  in  that, 
particularly  in  theology.  But  their  interest  is  most  likely  not 
in  the  orthodoxy  or  the  heresy,  per  se. 

His  interest  is  always  in  the  practical  aspect  of  religion. 
But  let  us  define  this  notion  a  little  more  carefully.  In  the 
first  place,  he  looks  at  the  ethical  quality  which  religion  im- 
parts to  conduct.  Does  the  religion  make  men  more  sober, 


334  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

honest,  reliable,  kind,  just,  generous?  Does  it  improve 
them  as  members  of  society?  If  so,  the  religion  is  justi- 
fied; if  not,  its  worthlessness  is  demonstrated.  He  takes 
quite  seriously  the  words  of  Jesus  — "  by  their  fruits  ye  shall 
know  them."  His  ethical  standards,  as  we  have  seen,  are 
profoundly  influenced. —  and  not  always  for  the  better  — 
by  his  economic  relations  and  experience;  but  the  ethical 
quality  of  life  is  for  him  the  supreme  test  of  any  religion 
or  creed.  In  the  second  place,  he  likes  to  see  measurable, 
countable  results  of  Christian  effort.  He  is  impressed  by 
crowds  at  church,  numerous  additions,  a  full  treasury, 
imposing  church  buildings,  institutions  established,  etc. 
These  are  results  which  he  can  most  readily  estimate  by  the 
criteria  he  is  accustomed  to  applying  in  business.  It  is 
an  inevitable  defect  of  this  mental  type  that  it  is  likely  not  to 
perceive  and  appreciate  some  of  the  higher  and  finer  spirit- 
ual qualities  of  character  and  achievement.  It  does  not 
measure  by  the  standard  to  which  Browning  appeals  in 
Rabbi  Ben  Ezra: 

Not  on  the  vulgar  mass 

Called  "  work  "  must  sentence  pass, 

Things  done,  that  took  the  eye  and  had  the  price; 

But  all  the  world's  coarse  thumb 

And  finger  failed  to  plumb, 

So  passed  in  making  up  the  man's  account; 

All  instincts  immature, 

All  purposes  unsure; 

That  weighed  not  as  his  work,  yet  swelled  the  man's  amount; 

Thoughts  hardly  to  be  packed 

Into  a  narrow  act, 

Fancies  that  broke  through  language  and  escaped: 

All  I  could  never  be, 

All  men  ignored  in  me, 

That  I  was  worth  to  God,  whose  wheel  the  pitcher  shaped. 

(c)  After  the  foregoing  it  hardly  need  be  added  that 
he  is  not  strongly  sectarian.     Sectarianism  results  from  a 


OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES  335 

peculiar  conjunction  of  influences  —  free  thinking,  on  the 
one  hand,  and  emphasis  upon  the  importance  of  correct  theo- 
logical opinions,  on  the  other.  People  who  are  without  in- 
tellectual freedom  will,  of  course,  not  divide  in  their  opin- 
ions ;  but  unless  theological  opinions  are  considered  of  very 
great  importance,  there  will  be  little  disposition  to  contend 
about  them  and  split  the  Christian  body  into  fractions  on 
account  of  them.  Now,  the  trend  in  this  industrial  and 
commercial  age  is  not  toward  uniformity  of  opinion  in 
theology  —  far  from  it ;  but  men,  while  holding  their  own 
opinions,  are  not  disposed  to  trouble  themselves  much  about 
the  opinions  of  others  in  religion ;  and  among  business  men 
this  is  especially  true.  Being  of  the  "  practical "  type,  such 
men  think  that  the  benevolent  and  ameliorating  enterprises 
of  Christianity  are  the  matters  of  supreme  importance. 
They  are,  therefore,  disposed  to  fraternize  and  co-operate 
with  all  those  who  are  interested  in  promoting  these  enter- 
prises, without  regard  to  differences  of  theological  opin- 
ion. Under  the  dominance  of  this  type  of  mind  we  are  wit- 
nessing a  most  interesting  and  important  double  develop- 
ment in  Christianity  —  theological  disintegration,  on  the 
one  hand;  and  on  the  other,  integration  around  practical 
enterprises  of  the  great  religious  groups,  originally  organ- 
ized on  the  basis  of  theological  differences.  Within  every 
one  of  these  great  groups,  once  theologically  compact  and 
solid,  all  sorts  of  theological  differences  now  prevail,  and 
yet  each  is  kept  intact  by  loyalty  to  certain  institutions  and 
denominational  enterprises ;  while  between  these  groups  the 
once  sharp  theological  opposition  has  nearly  disappeared, 
and  the  tendency  to  co-operate  in  the  realization  of  common 
ideals  is  growing  very  strong.  Chatting  once  with  a  busi- 
ness man  about  these  matters,  I  asked  him  how  much  in- 
terest the  business  men  of  his  acquaintance  felt  in  the  ques- 
tions which  divided  the  denominations.  His  reply,  though 
slangy,  is  worth  repeating :  "  not  enough,"  he  said,  "  to 
grease  the  pan  with,"  but  he  declared  that  their  interest  in 


336  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

the  practical,  ethical,  social  aims  of  Christianity  was  great 
and  growing. 

These  attitudes  of  mind  have  much  to  do  in  determining 
the  responses  which  the  preacher  receives  from  the  pews. 
If  the  business  men  do  not  fill  our  pews,  they  at  least  con- 
stitute the  most  influential  group  in  our  local  churches,  in 
most  cases ;  and  in  the  general  denominational  bodies,  in  all 
cases.  And  it  is  obvious  that  much  preaching  is  not  in 
terms  that  appeal  to  them.  Many  of  the  terms  used  in  the 
ordinary  pulpit,  the  average  business  man  does  not  know 
the  meaning  of.  Often  the  interests  which  seem  to  the 
minister  most  important  seem  to  him  unreal  or  trivial. 
Sometimes  the  theological  distinctions  to  which  the  preacher 
devotes  much  time  and  thought  he  characterizes  as  "  chew- 
ing straw."  Especially  does  he  take  little  interest  in  con- 
troversy about  such  matters.  As  a  consequence  sectarian 
preaching,  which  from  the  days  of  the  Reformation  to  a 
time  within  the  memory  of  men  still  living  was  so  much  in 
vogue,  is  hardly  tolerated  in  any  community  in  which  this 
type  of  mind  has  become  dominant;  while  the  preaching 
which  emphasizes  the  essential  unity  of  Christians  and  the 
widest  tolerance  of  differences  of  opinion  is  applauded.  The 
get-together  movement  in  Christianity  becomes  increasingly 
popular.  The  proposition  to  dissolve  and  merge  into  one 
the  denominational  organizations  receives  little  encourage- 
ment. Too  many  substantial  interests  would  be  imperiled 
by  such  a  program,  and  it  is  beset  with  an  endless  number 
of  practical  difficulties ;  but  the  cry  for  co-ordination  and  co- 
operation grows  louder  all  the  time.  This  tendency  is 
strengthened  by  the  fact  that  the  business  man  has  become 
accustomed  in  the  ecenomic  world  to  mammoth  enterprises 
in  which  many  businesses  are  co-ordinated.  He  tends  to 
think  in  these  terms.  These  huge  co-ordinated  enterprises 
appeal  both  to  his  sense  of  economy  and  to  his  imagination ; 
and  when  he  turns  his  attention  to  the  practical  problems  of 
Christianity  he  sees  wonderful  visions  of  possible  achieve- 


OCCUPATIONAL  TYPES  337 

ment  through  the  co-ordination  and  co-operation  of  Chris- 
tian forces. 

What  the  ultimate  issue  is  to  be  it  would  be  idle  to  attempt 
to  forecast;  but  in  adjusting  ourselves  to  these  conditions  it 
is  important  to  realize  that,  while  other  influences  are  at 
work  in  the  same  direction,  these  tendencies  are  in  no  small 
measure  due  to  the  prevalence  of  the  business  type  of  mind. 
It  would  be  a  mistake  to  draw  the  hasty  conclusion  that  this 
type  of  mind  should  dictate  the  character  of  our  preaching, 
and  that  in  all  cases  in  which  the  ministerial  and  the 
economic  types  of  mind  diverge,  the  preachers  are  all  wrong 
and  the  business  men  all  right.  The  fact  is  that  we  have 
here  two  rather  highly  specialized  types,  and  they  should 
act  as  correctives  to  one  another.  The  supremely  important 
thing  is  that  ministers  shall  not  ignore  the  divergence  and 
that  they  shall  in  the  presentation  of  their  message  under- 
stand, and  in  some  way  or  other  adapt  themselves  to,  the 
modes  of  thought  of  the  business  man ;  otherwise  they  will 
find  their  efforts  to  be  in  large  measure  a  vain  beating  of  the 
air. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    MODERN    MIND 

Is  there  a  modern  mind?  The  question  must  be  answered 
in  the  affirmative;  though  it  is  not  easy  to  define  precisely 
the  meaning  of  the  phrase.  Of  course,  there  is  no  modern 
as  contrasted  with  an  ancient  or  primitive  mind,  if  by  the 
phrase  one  means  the  appearance  of  any  new  mental  powers 
or  functions.  But  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  typical  modern 
man  has  points  of  view  and  modes  of  thought  markedly  dif- 
ferent from  those  of  men  living  under  more  primitive  con- 
ditions. Normally  he  reacts  in  a  different  way  to  almost 
every  situation  which  calls  forth  in  him  any  conscious  re- 
sponse. To  describe  and  explain  as  accurately  and  ade- 
quately as  space  will  permit  these  different  mental  attitudes 
and  tendencies  is  the  purpose  of  this  chapter.  But  at  the 
outset  we  must  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  we  have  among 
us  persons  who  represent  almost  every  degree  of  approx- 
imation to  the  modern  attitude  of  mind.  Many  occupy  yet 
almost  the  original,  primitive  point  of  view ;  and  few  minds, 
perhaps,  have  been  wholly  weaned  away  from  the  primitive 
attitude,  because  the  conditions  which  have  brought  about 
so  important  a  readjustment  of  the  mental  focus  have  arisen 
in  comparatively  recent  times.  Those  conditions  are  the 
profound  changes  which  have  taken  place  in  every  aspect  of 
the  environment  in  which  men  live. 

Broadly  speaking  there  are  two  general  factors  of  the 
environment  in  which  men  live  —  the  natural  and  the  human. 
By  the  natural  is  meant  the  conditions  and  forces  of  nature 
unmodified  and  uncontrolled  by  man.  The  human  phase  of 
the  environment  has  three  elements :  first,  the  human  beings 
composing  the  group  with  which  one  stands  related ;  second, 
human  institutions  —  those  relatively  fixed  systems  of  re- 

338 


THE    MODERN    MIND  339 

lations  in  which  men  are  organized;  third,  natural  objects 
and  forces  as  they  are  shaped  and  controlled  by  man  for  his 
own  convenience  and  comfort,  i.e.,  all  the  artificial  arrange- 
ments with  which  we  have  surrounded  ourselves. 

If  we  consider  the  changes  which  have  taken  place  in  the 
conditions  of  human  life  in  the  last  few  centuries  we  must 
be  struck  with  the  fact  that  there  has  been  a  complete  re- 
versal of  the  relative  importance  of  the  natural  and  the 
human  factors  of  man's  environment. 

I.  Let  us  consider  the  primitive  situation,  bearing  in  mind 
that  we  are  using  the  word  primitive  not  strictly  in  the 
absolute  sense,  as  referring  exclusively  to  the  beginnings  of 
human  life  in  the  world ;  but  with  reference  to  rude  and  un- 
developed civilization  in  general,  such  as  that  which  pre- 
vailed in  Europe  during  the  Middle  Ages  and  prevails  now 
in  lands  where  life  has  not  been  transformed  by  Western 
culture. 

i.  Under  primitive  conditions  the  natural  environment  is 
by  far  the  more  important,  and  gives  direction  to  the 
thoughts  of  men  and  determines  their  mental  attitudes. 
Men  are  surrounded  by  nature  unmodified  or,  at  most,  but 
slightly  modified  by  human  effort.  Its  vastness  and  wild- 
ness  impress  them.  Its  mighty  forces  are  uncontrollable 
by  human  power;  and  within  its  mysterious  realms  lurk 
dangers  which  they  can  not  surely  anticipate  and  against 
which  they  can  not  guard  themselves.  At  times  smiling  and 
beneficent;  at  times  frowning  and  maleficent,  it  blesses  or 
blasts  men,  seemingly  by  caprice ;  and  they  strive  with  little 
success  to  find  the  clue  to  its  apparent  changes  of  mood. 
They  have  no  science  of  natural  forms,  forces  and  processes. 
They  are  without  the  very  concept  of  natural  law.  Nature 
does  not  seem  to  them  one  and  consistent,  but  to  be  ani- 
mated by  many  different  and  contradictory  purposes.  Only 
within  narrow  limits  have  they  perceived  the  threads  of  uni- 
formity which  bind  together  natural  phenomena.  At  best, 
nature  seems  a  vast,  discordant  synthesis  of  minor  har- 
monies. 


34O  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

And  yet  upon  nature  they  are  immediately,  continuously, 
and  absolutely  dependent  for  the  simplest  means  of  life.  Of 
course,  there  is  a  sense  in  which  this  may  be  said  of  men 
at  every  stage  of  their  development ;  but  primitive  men  have 
learned  so  little  of  the  art  of  controlling  natural  forces,  have 
accumulated  so  small  a  stock  of  economic  goods  and  live  in 
such  isolation  from  other  human  groups  that  a  local  drought 
or  storm  or  pestilence  leaves  them  without  any  reserve 
power  or  other  human  resource.  They  feel  themselves  en- 
compassed by  and  helplessly  dependent  upon  vast,  dimly  ap- 
prehended forces,  of  whose  operations,  which  mean  imme- 
diate weal  or  woe  to  them,  they  have  practically  no  compre- 
hension and  control. 

2.  The  dominance  of  the  interests  which  grow  out  of  the 
pressure  of  the  natural  environment  upon  the  human  spirit 
is  so  complete,  it  appears,  because  the  human  environment 
is  at  this  stage  relatively  so  insignificant.  In  the  first  place, 
the  number  of  human  beings  with  whom  an  individual  in 
such  a  social  state  has  any  conscious  relationship  is  small. 
The  groups  in  which  men  live  are  not  large,  and  intercom- 
munication between  them  is  difficult  and  rare.  Even  when 
many  of  them  are  comprehended  in  one  great  political  em- 
pire, as  in  the  European  States  of  the  Middle  Ages  or  in 
China  of  the  present  day,  communication  between  them  is 
slow  and  uncertain,  and  for  the  individuals  of  any  one 
group  the  distant  groups  are  practically  non-existent.  The 
round  of  one's  life  is  spent  in  a  small  circle  of  human  con- 
tacts. In  the  second  place,  the  system  of  social  life  is  sim- 
ple. There  are  not  a  great  many  organized  relationships  in 
which  men  stand  to  one  another.  The  family  is  the  main 
institution ;  besides  it  are  the  priesthood  and  the  civil  magis- 
tracy, both  of  which  are  comparatively  simple  in  constitu- 
tution,  and  if  one  looks  back  far  enough,  both  of  them  are 
seen  to  merge  in  the  head  of  the  kinship  group.  In  the  third 
place,  very  little  has  been  done  in  the  creation  of  artificial 
conditions  of  living.  Buildings  are  small  and  simple  in 
structure.  Roads  are  little  more  than  trails  through  vast 


THE   MODERN   MIND  341 

wildernesses  or  over  barren  wastes.  Conveyances  are 
equally  rude.  Tools  are  simple  and  machinery  is  practically 
non-existent.  Cities  are  few  and  far  between,  and  small; 
their  streets  are  unpaved,  unlighted,  uncleaned;  and  public 
modes  of  transportation,  even  of  the  rudest  sort,  are  un- 
heard of.  On  the  other  hand,  all  the  cosmic  forces  run  wild 
in  their  might ;  only  the  feeblest  beginnings  have  been  made 
in  the  conquest  of  them  for  the  service  of  man.  It  is 
apparent,  therefore,  that  adjustment  to  the  human  environ- 
ment is  nothing  like  so  insistent  and  dominating  a  problem 
as  the  establishment  and  maintenance  of  satisfactory  rela- 
tions with  the  natural  environment. 

3.  What  mental  effects  does  living  under  such  conditions 
produce  ? 

It  is  inevitable  that  men  should  interpret  these  cosmic 
forces  in  terms  of  their  own  consciousness.  Under  the  cir- 
cumstances it  is  practically  certain  that  their  representation 
of  them  will  take  the  form  of  a  multitude  of  spirits,  good 
and  bad,  hidden  behind  the  natural  forms  and  expressing 
their  purposes,  more  or  less  capricious,  through  natural 
phenomena.  If  by  any  means  the  people  have  come  to 
have  the  idea  of  the  unity  of  God,  they  are  likely  to  bring 
this  lofty  conception  into  some  sort  of  consistency  with  the 
lower  notion  of  a  world  swarming  with  good  and  bad  spirits. 
Being  without  science  and  impressed  with  the  mystery  of 
natural  forces  and  processes,  the  notion  of  magic,  sym- 
pathetic and  contagious,  obsesses  their  minds ;  and  through 
its  arts  they  fancy  they  are  able  to  defend  themselves  to 
some  extent  against  evil  beings  whose  ill  will  menaces  them, 
and  to  control  in  some  measure  the  multitude  of  spirits 
surrounding  them.  So  all-encompassing  is  this  natural  en- 
vironment, so  immediately  and  absolutely  are  men  de- 
pendent upon  it,  so  closely  does  it  press  upon  them  with 
benefits  and  injuries,  that  adjustment  to  it  monopolizes 
human  attention.  It  becomes  the  most  insistent  problem  of 
human  life.  Inevitably  the  habit  grows  upon  them  of  inter- 
preting the  varying  fortunes  of  their  lives  in  terms  of  their 


342  PSYCHOLOGY   AND    PREACHING 

relations  with  those  non-human  beings,  of  whose  wills 
natural  events  are  supposed  to  be  the  expression.  All  the 
occurrences  of  life  except  the  acts  of  their  own  wills  are 
accounted  for  by  the  activity  of  these  beings;  and  often 
even  the  acts  of  the  human  will  are  so  explained.  Mag- 
ical arts  grow  apace.  Taboos  and  ceremonial  perfor- 
mances multiply  around  all  the  more  notable  experiences 
of  men.  In  the  course  of  advancing  intelligence  these 
fungus  growths  are  removed ;  but  the  sense  of  an  all-encom- 
passing superhuman  presence  remains  so  long  as  people  live 
in  such  an  environment.  Of  the  two  factors  of  the  religious 
relation  —  the  human  and  the  superhuman  —  the  first  is 
felt  to  be  comparatively  insignificant.  The  superhuman 
spirit,  good  or  bad,  is  believed  often  to  take  possession  of 
the  human  spirit,  speak  through  it  and  use  it  according  to 
pleasure.  Superhuman  influences  overflow  —  submerge,  so 
to  speak  —  the  whole  realm  of  human  existence.  The 
priesthood  attains  to  great  power  and  often  dominates  the 
civil  order.  The  religious  official,  regarded  as  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  superhuman  world,  is  the  most  important 
personage  in  the  community  and  his  utterances  on  any  mat- 
ter carry  the  utmost  weight. 

When  in  the  course  of  events,  the  reason  begins  —  as  it 
inevitably  must,  sooner  or  later  —  to  formulate  theories  of 
the  world,  theological  problems  are  uppermost  and  mainly 
engage  the  rational  activities.  Theological  opinions  are  felt 
to  be  matters  of  transcendent  importance.  There  is  no  tol- 
eration of  divergence  from  the  theological  conceptions  gen- 
erally held  by  the  group.  As  these  divergences  appear,  de- 
spite the  intolerance,  the  groupings  of  men  are  determined 
by  their  various  opinions  on  religious  subjects.  These  dif- 
ferences form  the  line  of  profound  social  cleavage;  and 
often  become  the  source  of  the  most  ardent  and  uncom- 
promising animosities  which  array  men  against  one  another. 

II.  We  may  now  turn  to  consider  the  modern  situation. 
It  is  evident  that  with  the  increase  of  the  population  and  the 
accumulation  of  human  experience,  the  human  factors  of  the 


THE   MODERN   MIND  343 

environment  become  relatively  more  and  more  important. 
In  a  survey  of  the  history  of  human  development  it  becomes 
apparent  that  progress  has  taken  place,  on  the  whole,  step 
by  step  as  the  human  group  has  become  larger  and  human 
control  over  natural  forms  and  forces  has  extended.  The 
process  of  civilization  has  been  a  movement  from  a  situation 
in  which  the  human  factor  was  at  a  minimum  toward  a  sit- 
uation in  which  it  is  at  a  maximum.  As  a  general  statement 
this  unquestionably  holds  good,  notwithstanding  some  facts 
which  seem  to  contradict  it.  Sometimes  an  alarmed  cry 
arises  for  a  reversal  of  the  process  and  a  return  to  more 
primitive  conditions ;  but  real  improvement  is  to  be  effected 
not  by  a  return  to  conditions  in  which  the  human  environ- 
ment is  relatively  less  dominant,  but  by  pressing  forward  to 
conditions  in  which  the  human  control  of  the  natural  en- 
vironment shall  be  more  nearly  complete  and  shall  be 
directed  by  a  more  conscious  social  purpose. 

In  our  study  we  may  secure  better  results  by  having  in 
mind  the  modern  city,  for  there  this  characteristic  feature 
of  modern  life  is  most  pronounced  and  its  significance  most 
apparent.  The  gathering  of  people  into  these  municipal  ag- 
gregations has  always  been  a  marked  feature  of  social  de- 
velopment; but  in  recent  times,  especially  under  the  influ- 
ence of  modern  industrialism,  the  drawing  of  people  in  mul- 
titudes from  rural  districts  into  these  great  centres  has  been 
a  phenomenon  of  extraordinary  importance.  On  account 
of  the  natural  increase  of  the  population  and  the  city-ward 
tendency  of  the  population  under  industrialism,  we  have 
such  municipal  aggregations  as  were  never  seen  before,  and 
they  are  growing  at  a  rate  which  is  astonishing.  On  account 
of  the  progress  of  invention,  these  masses  of  people  live 
under  conditions  far  more  highly  artificialized  than  men 
have  ever  dreamed  of  before.  The  characteristic  feature  of 
city  life  has  always  been  the  prominence  of  the  human  en- 
vironment. The  conditions  of  life  are  largely  human  and 
humanly  controlled.  But  this  is  far  more  true  of  the  mod- 
ern city  than  of  the  cities  of  former  ages.  It  is  true  also  of 


344  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

the  country  in  large  measure,  especially  of  the  districts  con- 
tiguous to  the  cities,  but  less  and  less  so  as  one  moves  far- 
ther away  from  the  great  urban  centres.  The  fact  is  that 
rural  districts  are  being  progressively  suburbanized.  Ex- 
cellent roads  are  being  built;  vehicles  of  every  description 
improved;  trolley-lines,  and  telephone  wires  extended  into 
remote  sections ;  and  up-to-date  methods  of  heating  and  light- 
ing installed  in  residences.  Along  with  this  trend  the 
primeval  wilderness  is  giving  way  to  intensively  cultivated 
fields  and  scientifically  cultivated  forests.  The  whole  as- 
pect of  the  country  has  been  changed  by  human  effort,  and 
the  original  natural  environment  has  been  highly  artificial- 
ized  even  in  remote  rural  districts. 

If  we  reflect  upon  the  rapid  growth  of  cities,  the  extend- 
ing influence  of  the  cities  upon  the  country,  the  general 
increase  in  the  density  of  the  population,  and  the  rapid  rate 
at  which  all  the  conditions  of  life,  even  in  the  country,  are 
being  artificialized  —  i.e.,  humanly  organized  and  controlled, 
we  may  safely  conclude  that  the  modern  city-bred  man  most 
nearly  represents  the  trend  of  human  development  in  this 
age.  Into  the  study  of  this  type  and  the  conditions  under 
which  it  is  developed  let  us  go  somewhat  in  detail. 

I.  First,  as  to  the  environmental  conditions. 

In  the  city  a  man  has  comparatively  little  contact  with 
nature  in  any  of  its  original  forms.  He  does  not  walk  on 
Mother  Earth.  His  vision  does  not  range  over  the  rolling 
hills,  nor  penetrate  the  shadowy  recesses  of  the  forest.  His 
ears  are  assaulted  by  a  deafening  complex  of  all  the  dis- 
cordant noises  with  which  his  own  stormy  energy  has  been 
able  to  break  the  primeval  silence.  He  sees  little  of  the  sky, 
which  is  hidden  behind  his  heaven  climbing  walls  and  even 
when  glimpsed  is  darkened  by  the  smoke,  which  looks  like 
an  angry  but  ineffectual  protest  of  nature  against  his  im- 
pertinent disturbance  of  her  ancient  quietude.  And  while 
he  thus  obscures  the  day,  he  illuminates  the  night  with  the 
obtrusive  glare  of  the  electric  lamps,  which  make  the  modest 
moon,  Nature's  invention,  look  pale  and  abashed.  Of 


THE    MODERN   MIND  345 

course,  he  does  not  transcend  nature.  That  is  impossible. 
But  he  sees  around  him  not  nature  in  its  pristine  state,  in 
which  its  massive  forms  and  resistless  forces  dominate  and 
overawe  him,  but  as  it  is  worked  upon,  shaped,  controlled, 
and  made  to  serve  his  ends.  The  enumeration  of  all  the 
mechanical  devices  and  appliances  by  which  we  have  so 
largely  overcome  the  limitations  of  time  and  space  and  com- 
pelled the  earth  and  sea  and  air  to  yield  up  their  treasures  to 
us  and  to  become  the  media  through  which  our  desires  are 
realized,  would  form  only  a  series  of  tedious  platitudes. 
Let  us  consider  some  of  the  less  hackneyed  aspects  of  our 
theme. 

In  the  city  a  man's  dangers  —  at  least  those  that  are  the 
most  obvious  —  are  man-made.  From  morn  till  night  he 
runs  the  gauntlet  of  danger;  but  for  the  most  part  it  is 
danger  that  arises  from  the  conditions  of  the  associated  life 
of  the  city.  He  may  be  knocked  down,  run  over,  broken,  or 
maimed,  or  sawed  asunder,  or  crushed,  or  suffocated,  or 
burned,  or  blown  to  atoms ;  but  the  perils  that  most  threat- 
eningly encompass  him  are  the  forces  and  processes  that  are 
organized  and  directed  by  men. 

Likewise  with  an  increasing  number  of  his  diseases. 
There  is  already  a  long  and  growing  list  of  occupational 
diseases  which  have  their  origin  in  the  conditions  under 
which  men  and  women,  as  things  now  are,  must  work  in  the 
cities.  Some  of  the  most  loathsome  and  deadly  diseases 
arise  from  or  are  fostered  by  the  horrible  housing  condi- 
tions under  which  great  masses  of  the  population  are  com- 
pelled to  live,  because  no  better  accommodations  are  avail- 
able for  the  poor,  and  because  this  grade  of  houses  is  ex- 
ceptionally remunerative.  Furthermore,  one  needs  but  look 
around  to  see  the  great  multitude  of  physical  wrecks  whose 
nerves,  over-strained,  unstrung,  jangled  by  the  strenuous 
conditions  of  city  life,  are  enough  of  themselves  to  make  life 
a  perpetual  misery,  while  they  furnish  also  the  best  breed- 
ing-ground for  flocks  of  other  diseases.  And  many  of  the 
diseases  which  do  not  originate  in  the  man-made  conditions 


346  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

are  rendered  far  more  dangerous  by  reason  of  the  human 
crowding. 

In  the  city  one's  success  or  failure  seems  to  depend  most 
directly  upon  one's  fellowmen  or  upon  oneself  in  competi- 
tion with  one's  fellowmen.  The  gravamen  of  the  economic 
struggle  is  competition  with  men.  Of  course,  the  thought- 
ful man  sees  nature  in  the  background  and  perceives  that 
man  in  his  economic  efforts  is  coping  with  natural  forces 
and  processes,  and  that  nature  gradually  falls  under  the 
sway  of  the  human  will.  The  focal  point,  however,  in  the 
economic  consciousness  of  most  men  is  not  the  collective 
effort  to  master  the  material  world,  but  is  their  relative  par- 
ticipation in  the  social  wealth  thus  created.  And  not  only 
the  general  wealth  but  the  distribution  whereby  men  find 
their  places  in  the  economic  gradation  of  society  seems  to 
be  very  definitely  due  to  a  series  of  human  efforts  and  ar- 
rangements. If  a  man  be  poor  he  is  likely  to  feel  that  his 
poverty  is  due  largely,  at  any  rate,  to  conditions  and  proc- 
esses which  are  socially  determined,  and  could  be  socially 
changed.  If  he  be  rich,  he  may,  like  the  celebrated  Mr.  Baer 
of  anthracite  coal  fame,  when  his  title  to  control  so  large 
a  part  of  the  world's  natural  wealth  was  challenged,  set 
up  the  claim  that  God  has  committed  so  much  to  the  rich, 
because  presumably  they  are  the  best  fitted  to  administer  it 
wisely ;  though  as  a  matter  of  fact  such  men  really  attribute 
the  greatness  of  their  accumulations  not  to  God  but  to  their 
own  energy  and  wisdom,  working  in  a  humanly  organized 
economic  system  which  they  highly  approve.  In  a  word, 
poverty  and  riches,  success  and  failure,  appear  to  be  the 
results  of  personal  qualities  working  in  a  man-made  eco- 
nomic environment.  They  are  not  ordained  by  a  super- 
human power. 

The  modern  man  has  become  accustomed  to  vast  systems 
of  machinery  with  their  mazes  of  interrelated  parts.  The 
machine  is,  perhaps,  the  most  characteristic  feature  of  our 
modern  civilization.  It  is  the  development  of  the  tool;  but 
the  tool  was  a  simple  instrument  which  a  man  used  as  a  sort 


THE   MODERN    MIND  347 

of  supplement  to  his  body.  The  machine  is  an  apparatus 
which  serves  more  than  one  important  function  —  the  most 
notable  of  which,  from  our  point  of  view,  is  that  it  taps  cos- 
mic energy,  which  it  brings  into  the  service  of  man  to  do  his 
will  under  the  direction  of  his  intelligence.  It  is  an  organ- 
ization of  material  things  for  controlling  the  forces  before 
which  men  once  stood  in  impotent  awe.  It  is  a  method  of 
taming  heat,  light,  steam,  electricity,  gravitation;  and  as 
more  occult  realms  of  natural  energy  are  opened  up  it  sub- 
dues them  also  to  human  purposes.  There  is  no  apparent 
limit  to  this  process;  but,  generally  speaking,  with  this  ad- 
vancing conquest  of  nature  the  appliances  through  which 
its  forces  are  trained  to  human  service  become  more  elab- 
orately complex.  Between  the  directing  mind  and  the  end 
at  which  it  aims  is  interposed  an  ever  longer  and  more  intri- 
cate series  of  mechanical  means ;  until  the  human  intel- 
ligence seems  almost  dwarfed  by  the  very  vastness  of  the 
material  organization  it  has  invented. 

Turning  now  from  the  consideration  of  the  artificial  en- 
vironment which  men  have  built  up  around  themselves,  let 
us  think  of  the  multiplicity  of  the  human  contacts  in  the 
city.  One  is  continually  rubbing  against  one's  fellowmen. 
The  relationships  and  contacts  get  to  be  so  numerous  that 
many  of  them  become  to  a  large  extent  habitual.  The  con- 
sciousness attending  them  is  not  vivid  or  intense.  Many  of 
them  come  only  within  the  fringe  of  consciousness.  This  is 
a  merciful  provision,  for  the  economy  of  our  vital  energy  — 
life  in  the  city  would  be  intolerable,  impossible,  indeed,  if  it 
were  not  so.  Nevertheless,  the  whole  field  of  attention  of 
the  dweller  in  the  city  is  usually  filled  with  these  human 
contacts  and  relations.  Their  multiplicity  and  importance, 
the  inevitable  and  urgent  character  of  many  of  them,  render 
it  necessary  to  the  preservation  and  promotion  of  life  that 
they  occupy  prevailingly  the  foreground  of  one's  conscious- 
ness. It  is  men,  men,  men!  Turn  where  we  will,  we  see 
them;  or  if  we  do  not  at  the  moment  see  them,  we  see  the 
work  of  their  hands  or  we  hear  the  sounds  of  their  activities. 


348  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

If  for  a  little  rest  and  relief  from  this  omnipresent  and 
sometimes  oppressive  sense  of  human  presence,  one  betakes 
himself  to  a  park,  he  is  confronted  by  others,  who,  like  him- 
self, have  fled  for  rest  to  the  bosom  of  nature.  But  there 
nature  is  not  simply  nature  any  more.  Every  path,  every 
bush,  the  green  grassland  the  trees  are  mute  witnesses  of 
the  art  and  care  of  man.  Even  the  birds  and  the  squirrels 
are  "  socialized."  There  is  no  relief  except  in  flight  from 
the  city;  and  ordinarily  one  must  travel  a  great  distance  to 
get  away  from  the  obtrusive  evidences  of  the  monopolizing 
presence  and  activity  of  man.  In  the  city  his  soul  is  simply 
immersed  in  the  consciousness  of  the  human  environment. 

The  consciousness  of  one's  fellowmen  is  forced  upon  him 
not  only  by  the  multiplicity  of  personal  contacts  but  also  by 
the  extent  and  variety  of  the  institutional  relations  which 
encompass  him.  What  we  may  call  the  social  machinery 
has  become  even  more  vast  and  complex  than  the  mechanical 
appliances  which  men  use.  We  have  noted  the  fact  that 
there  was  not  much  social  organization  in  primitive  life;  in 
modern  life  it  has  grown  until  it  is  bewildering  and  op- 
pressive. Let  any  man  of  average  importance  in  an  ad- 
vanced modern  community  count  up  the  various  organized 
relations  in  which  he  stands,  and  he  will  probably  be  sur- 
prised. Let  him  look  at  the  economic  system  of  which  he  is 
a  member.  How  far  reaching  and  complicated  it  is !  Then 
let  him  think  of  the  educational  system,  and  of  the  political 
system,  and  of  the  ecclesiastical.  Then  the  benevolent  or- 
ders must  be  taken  into  account;  and  the  literary  societies, 
the  art  clubs,  the  civic  organizations,  and  the  convivial  — 
the  whole  endless  range  of  voluntary  associations  projected 
for  the  promotion  of  every  interest  under  the  sun.  The  or- 
ganized and  institutional  relations  of  men  are  growing  more 
numerous  all  the  time  and  all  are  becoming  more  elaborate 
and  complex  (except  the  family,  an  exception  of  capital  im- 
portance), and  the  limits  of  this  process  of  organizing  life 
no  man  can  foresee.  We  are  already  so  linked  up  with  our 
fellows  in  this  way  that  we  often  think  of  the  social  organ- 


THE   MODERN    MINU  349 

ization  as  a  huge  and  intricate  machine  in  which  the  main 
business  of  life  is  for  each  one  to  play  his  little  perfunctory 
part;  and  it  greatly  helps  to  preoccupy  the  consciousness 
of  each  person  with  the  human  environment,  which  so  en- 
compasses him  that  he  sees  or  hears  or  thinks  little  else. 

Another  vitally  important  aspect  of  the  modern  situation 
is  the  development  of  science.  It  is  closely  connected  with 
the  growing  importance  of  the  human  factors  of  the  en- 
vironment, of  which  it  presupposes  a  considerable  develop- 
ment; and  is  the  chief  method  whereby  men  have  been  able 
to  master  and  fashion  their  material  environment.  Science 
is  the  systematic  study  of  facts  for  the  purpose  of  ascer- 
taining their  law.  To  be  more  specific:  The  subject  mat- 
ter of  science  is  experience ;  its  method  is  experiment,  so  far 
as  that  is  possible ;  its  aim  is  to  organize  experience  accord- 
ing to  its  uniformities,  so  as  to  enable  men  to  secure  a  more 
extensive  control  of  their  environment  and  better  adapt 
themselves  to  those  aspects  of  it  which  they  cannot  control. 
Science  calls  upon  her  devotees  to  divest  themselves  of  all 
prejudice,  to  sit  humbly  at  the  feet  of  Nature  and  learn  of 
her,  and  advance  their  welfare  by  ascertaining  her  laws. 
"  Control  through  knowledge  "  is  her  dictum. 

It  is  superfluous  to  dwell  upon  the  success  of  the  scientific 
method.  Certainly  it  has  immensely  broadened  the  realm 
of  man's  control  of  natural  forces,  and  accelerated  his  task 
of  organizing  about  him  an  environment  of  his  own  mak- 
ing. Opposed  uncompromisingly  at  first,  it  has  vindicated 
itself  by  helpful  results  that  are  indisputable  and  has  finally 
won  the  undivided  loyalty  of  the  modern  world. 

2.  Now,  what  effect  does  living  under  these  modern  con- 
ditions have  upon  the  thinking  and  feeling  of  men?  What 
dispositions  and  mental  attitudes  does  it  tend  to  induce? 

(i)  The  modern  man  cannot  long  tolerate  loneliness.  If 
he  becomes  weary  of  the  presence  of  men  and  the  strain 
which  that  imposes,  as  he  sometimes  does,  and  finds  his 
way  into  the  solitudes  to  stand  face  to  face  with  primeval 
nature,  he  may  for  a  few  days  enjoy  the  silent  gloom  of  the 


35O  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

forest  or  the  solemn  grandeur  of  glens  and  crags  or  the 
wild  freedom  of  the  waste  of  waters ;  but  the  loneliness 
which  soon  falls  like  lead  upon  his  aching  heart  discloses 
the  fact  that  the  predominantly  human  environment  to 
which  he  is  accustomed  has  become  for  him  the  very  breath 
of  life.  The  intolerable  pain  of  being  alone  is  an  interest- 
ing phase  of  the  psychology  of  the  modern  city  man.  City 
life  may  afford  the  conditions  for  the  greatest  privacy  of 
certain  aspects  of  the  individual  and  family  life ;  and  a  man 
may  be  more  lonely  in  a  great  city  than  anywhere  else,  if  he 
be  a  stranger,  but  it  is,  nevertheless,  true  that  the  normal 
city-bred  man  has  become  so  accustomed  to  the  presence  of 
his  fellowmen,  his  habitual  processes  of  feeling  and  think- 
ing have  been  so  prevailingly  determined  by  the  human  en- 
vironment, that  loneliness,  and  especially  loneliness  in  the 
midst  of  the  wild  forms,  the  vast  spaces  and  the  deep 
silence  of  primeval  nature,  is  peculiarly  oppressive  and  pro- 
foundly, though  vaguely,  disturbing. 

(2)  Out  of  this  very  estrangement  of  man  from  nature 
in  its  primitive,  untamed  forms  arises  the  aesthetic  delight 
in  nature  which  is  so  marked  a  characteristic  of  the  modern 
mind.  As  a  rule  it  is  not  the  men  who  live  in  daily  contact 
with  nature  in  whom  its  colours  and  forms  awaken  the  re- 
sponses which  are  called  aesthetic.  Usually  it  is  the  man 
who  lives  or  has  been  bred  in  an  artificial  environment. 
Under  the  conditions  of  life  in  the  early  world  when  men 
lived  in  much  closer  familiarity  with  hills  and  streams  and 
forests,  with  clouds  and  storms  and  the  glorious  panorama 
of  the  heavens,  there  was  not  the  same  thrill  of  joy  in  look- 
ing upon  them  as  modern  men  feel.  It  is  most  interesting 
to  observe  the  different  feeling  for  and  treatment  of  nature 
in  the  early  and  later  literatures  of  the  world.  Of  course, 
in  making  such  broad  generalizations  it  must  be  remembered 
that  they  are  relative  and  approximate  only.  But  in  a  gen- 
eral way  it  can  be  said  that  nature,  simply  as  nature,  is  rarely 
if  ever  the  inspiration  of  the  writer  in  the  early  literature. 
His  utterances  are  likely  to  be  rich,  almost  riotously  rich, 


THE    MODERN    MIND  351 

in  natural  tropes.  Metaphors  and  similes  drawn  from 
natural  objects  seem  to  be  the  customary  dress  for  his  pas- 
sionate thought,  but  the  inspiration  of  his  passion  is  not 
nature  itself,  but  the  purposes  and  actions  of  the  gods  whom 
he  fancies  he  sees  in  nature.  The  thought  of  the  modern 
writer  is  not  likely  to  be  so  gorgeously  arrayed  in  natural 
tropes,  but  far  more  frequently  do  you  find  him  standing 
in  rapt  contemplation  before  natural  objects,  deriving  his 
inspiration  from  them,  delighting  in  them  on  their  own 
account,  and  giving  a  loving,  sometimes  entrancing,  descrip- 
tion of  them  in  confidence  that  he  could  not  give  a  keener 
delight  to  a  large  circle  of  readers.  His  interest  in  nature 
is  aesthetic,  not  religious.  It  has  been  pointed  out1  that 
landscape  painting,  so  important  a  feature  of  modern,  and  so 
insignificant  a  feature  of  early  art,  has  developed  in  connec- 
tion with  the  highly  artificial  conditions  of  modern  city  life, 
under  which  man  has  been  divorced  from  his  primitive  in- 
timacy with  nature. 

(3)  The  same  writer  calls  attention  to  the  fact  that  what 
might  be  called  the  rhythmical  adjustment  to  nature  is  much 
less  perfect  in  modern  than  it  was  in  primitive  conditions. 
Primevally  man's  food  supply  was  usually  abundant  and  as- 
sured at  certain  seasons  of  the  year  and  limited  and  pre- 
carious at  others,  and  his  life  expanded  and  contracted,  so 
to  speak,  with  the  seasons.  In  other  respects,  also,  the 
variations  of  his  life  ran  parallel  with  the  seasonal  changes 
much  more  closely  than  is  the  case  in  civilized  lands  today; 
and  the  explanation  is  evident  —  the  recent  extension  of  his 
control  over  nature,  artificializing  the  conditions  under  which 
he  lives.  Even  the  adaptation  of  his  life  to  the  diurnal 
rhythm  of  nature,  the  alternations  of  the  waking  and  the 
sleeping  periods,  is  to  a  large  extent  broken  up  under  the 
conditions  of  city  life,  and  through  the  operation  of  the 
same  causes.  In  a  word,  his  life  must  adapt  itself  more  and 
more  to  the  varying  tides  of  social  life  and  less  to  the  regu- 
lar alternations  of  nature. 

i  Simmel,  "  Philosophic  des  Geldes/'  pp.  543-4. 


352  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

(4)  The  modern  spirit  is  strenuous.     The  complex  and 
crowded  human  environment  is  extremely  stimulating.     The 
primeval  natural  environment  at  times  powerfully  stimu- 
lated the  minds  of  men ;  but  on  the  whole  it  was  soporific  as 
compared  with  the  thronging  and  tumultuous  life  in  the  midst 
of  which  the  modern  man  moves.     Indeed,  many  people  are 
over-stimulated  today.     Only  those  of  fairly  sound  nervous 
constitutions  can  stand  the  strain.     Everybody  works  under 
high  pressure ;  when  men  play  they  feel  that  it  is  dull  unless 
the  pressure  is  high;  and  perhaps  no  class  of  people  live 
under  higher  pressure  than  those  who  do  not  work  at  all. 
The  development  of  society  inevitably  quickens  the  pace  of 
life.     Everything  must  move  faster.     Men  become  impatient 
of  slow  movement  in  every  sphere  of  life,  and  especially  in 
the  pulpit.     This  speeding-up  process  continues ;  and  no  one 
can  see  any  prospect  that  it  will  cease  in  the  future.     For- 
tunately, life  tends  to  adapt  itself  to  the  constantly  accelerat- 
ing pace  in  various  ways.     Men's  minds  become  more  alert ; 
and  by  learning  to  economize  time  and  personal  energy  and 
to  use  more  effectively  the  energy  of  natural  forces,  the 
majority  of  people  not  only  survive  but  manage  to  accom- 
plish more  and  more. 

(5)  The  passion  for  achievement  is  a  characteristic  of  the 
modern  age.     This  would  seem  to  be  a  natural  result  of 
living  in  an  environment  which  is  so  stimulating  and  is  so 
largely  the  product  of  human  effort.     Under  this  stimulation 
the  sense  of  individual  personality  is  intensified,  and  the 
environment  teems  with  suggestions  and  inducements  to  give 
expressions  to  personality  in  forms  of  constructive  effort. 
Sometimes  the  destructive  impulse  dominates,  but  that  is  ex- 
ceptional.    The  conditions  of  life  today  stimulate  men  to 
impress  themselves  in  some  way  upon  their  environment, 
either  by  subduing  the  yet  unsubdued  realms  of  nature  or 
by  reorganizing  some  part  of  the  human  world.     This  striv- 
ing for  achievement  takes  the  form  of  both  individual  and 
collective  effort,  which  are  not  inconsistent  with  one  another 
but  are  always  co-ordinated  in  any  important  enterprise. 


THE   MODERN    MIND  353 

And  this  is  pre-eminently  the  age  of  large  enterprises. 
Social  groups  are  so  large  and  the  human  organization  is  so 
immense  that  men  are  stimulated  not  only  to  achieve,  but  to 
achieve  largely.  Men  have  a  craving  to  do  things  and  to  see 
things  done  on  a  colossal  scale,  which  is  the  natural  psycho- 
logical effect  of  living  in  such  a  vast  humanly  organized  en- 
vironment. This  desire  is  almost  an  obsession  of  the  mod- 
ern mind.  Notwithstanding  all  the  expressions  of  horror 
at  the  unspeakable  tragedy  of  the  great  war,  it  is  probable 
that  millions  of  people  feel  a  half-conscious  pride  in  the 
fact  that  this  generation  has  conducted  war  on  a  scale  which 
utterly  dwarfs  all  previous  efforts  of  men  in  this  sanguinary 
business.  The  achievements  of  men  rapidly  build  up  about 
them  an  environment  which  kindles  to  a  more  intense  flame 
the  desire  to  accomplish  things  on  a  still  larger  scale.  It  is  a 
spirit  which  grows  upon  its  own  success.  Where  will  it 
end? 

A  very  important  result  is  that  attention  is  focused  more 
and  more  upon  this  present  life,  and,  to  a  corresponding  de- 
gree, is  diverted  from  the  existence  beyond  this.  Com- 
petent observers  in  all  walks  of  society  testify  that  interest 
and  belief  in  personal  immortality  are  declining;  and,  in 
part,  it  seems  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  constant  occupation 
of  the  attention  with  the  possibilities  and  problems  of  the 
stimulating  environment  in  which  men  live  today.  This  is 
surely  a  deeply  important  aspect  of  the  religious  life  of  our 
time,  and  seriously  challenges  the  thought  of  every  intel- 
ligent preacher. 

(6)  The  great  development  of  science  has  wrought  —  or 
perhaps  we  should  say  is  working  —  a  most  significant 
change  in  the  mental  attitude  of  men  toward  the  whole  uni- 
verse of  phenomena,  though  the  change  was  first  effected 
and  is  yet  most  obvious  with  respect  to  the  physical  world. 
Of  course,  there  are  many  men  who  have  been  only  partially 
affected  by  this  influence.  But  science  has  become  the  main 
factor  in  determining  the  mode  of  thought  of  the  educated 
world;  and  through  the  activities  of  the  intellectual  classes 


354  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

who  are  under  its  sway  it  is  potent  in  forming  the  general 
mental  attitude  of  the  age.  Its  influence  has  become  atmos- 
pheric ;  and  even  the  most  ignorant  rustic's  mode  of  thought 
has  been  profoundly  modified  by  it,  though  he  be  innocent 
of  its  first  principles.  But  the  number  of  those  who  have 
no  acquaintance  with  the  general  principles  of  science  is 
rapidly  diminishing.  The  natural  sciences  form  a  very  im- 
portant part  of  the  curricula  of  all  schools;  and  scientific 
method  prevails  in  the  study  of  all  other  subjects.  Surely 
and  rapidly  the  mental  life  of  the  rising  generation  is  being 
cast  in  the  scientific  mould.  Let  us  notice  some  of  the  par- 
ticular aspects  of  the  great  mental  change  which  has  thus 
been  brought  about. 

First,  men  are  becoming  accustomed  to  regard  all  things 
as  open  to  scientific  inquiry.  There  is  no  precinct,  however 
sacred,  which  can  successfully  resist  the  entrance  of  the 
great  questioner,  investigator,  tester  —  Science.  Conse- 
quently every  assumption  of  prejudice,  every  hope  that 
springs  from  desire,  every  tenet  of  faith,  every  formulation 
of  human  experience,  which  has  not  been  examined  and  es- 
tablished scientifically,  is  felt  to  be  wanting  in  suitable  cre- 
dentials for  the  men  of  this  age.  All  the  persuasions  and 
convictions  of  men  which  are  not  certified  by  this  great 
Guarantor  of  positive  truth  are  felt  by  those  whose  minds 
have  been  cast  in  the  scientific  mould  to  be  insecurely 
founded.  Everything  is  open  to  question.  It  is  therefore 
an  age  that  really  teems  with  unsolved  problems.  Doubt- 
less the  confidence  in  science  is  overweening,  just  as  was 
the  confidence  in  traditional  authority  which  it  has  displaced. 
Science  can  speak  with  authority  only  within  certain  limits. 
But  we  are  now  stating  the  actual  facts  as  to  the  mental 
attitude  characteristic  of  the  age,  not  justifying  that  attitude, 
and  the  statements  made  are  none  too  strong.  If  science 
has  its  limitations,  there  is  a  feeling  that  those  limits  must 
be  determined  according  to  scientific  method.  In  other 
words,  there  is  a  general  conviction  that  no  other  authority 
can  legitimately  set  the  bounds  beyond  which  science  has 


THE    MODERN    MIND  355 

no  right  to  speak.  Doubtless  the  final  test  must  be  prag- 
matic. Science  thrusts  its  questions  into  every  sphere  and 
seeks  to  apply  its  methods  there,  and  in  the  end  her  right  to 
be  there  can  only  be  determined  by  the  result.  Does  the  ap- 
plication of  the  scientific  method  in  any  given  realm  yield 
results  that  promote  the  fundamental  human  interests?  If 
so,  it  is  justified;  otherwise,  not. 

In  the  second  place,  it  has  a  tendency  to  depersonalize  the 
whole  universe  of  natural  phenomena.  Natural  occurrences 
the  law  of  which  has  not  been  discovered  men  are  almost 
certain  to  refer  to  a  non-human  personal  agency.  Before 
the  notion  of  natural  law  had  been  acquired,  anything  that 
took  place  and  was  not  obviously  accounted  for  by  human 
agency  was  referred  to  non-human  personal  beings  of  one 
description  or  another.  But  when  a  law  of  nature  has  been 
discovered  we  are  no  longer  disposed  to  refer  the  phenomena 
covered  by  it  to  the  activity  of  a  personal  being.  Now, 
science  cultivates  the  habit  of  thinking  that  all  change 
throughout  the  universe  takes  place  according  to  law,  and 
that  the  law  is  ascertainable  by  the  human  mind.  The 
universality  of  natural  law  may  be  regarded  as  a  fixed  as- 
sumption, or  presupposition,  of  the  modern  mind;  and  so 
may  the  confidence  that  by  scientific  investigation  men  are 
destined  to  approximate  more  and  more  closely  an  adequate 
knowledge  of  the  laws  of  nature.  As  the  realm  of  dis- 
covered natural  law  has  broadened,  the  sphere  of  activity 
of  those  non-human  personalities  has  contracted,  until  many 
men  believe  that  the  progress  of  natural  science  is  destined 
to  eliminate  every  trace  of  it.  Most  men  think  of  the  uni- 
verse, especially  the  physical  universe,  as  being  operated  by 
a  vast  system  of  laws.  For  most  minds  when  the  law  of 
any  phenomenon  is  found  out,  it  is  felt  to  be  explained. 
That  phenomenon  is  adequately  accounted  for.  When  any 
phenomenon  is  puzzling,  the  modern  mind  is  convinced  that 
there  is  a  law  that  will  explain  it,  and  investigators  set  about 
the  search  for  it.  After  a  while  some  lucky  man  finds  it. 
"  Eureka."  That  fact  is  classed  among  the  things  explained, 


356  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

and  the  investigator  starts  upon  the  trail  of  some  other  puz- 
zling fact.  So  accustomed  are  modern  men  to  this  way  of 
thinking  that  few  realize  what  a  radical  and  far  reaching 
change  in  the  conception  of  the  universe  it  represents,  and 
how  profoundly  it  has  modified  man's  mental  attitude  toward 
physical  nature  in  particular.  We  may  readily  grant  that 
this  is  shallow  thinking.  But  even  those  who  think  more 
deeply  find  it  difficult  to  connect  these  regular  processes  of 
nature  with  the  activity  of  a  personal  being,  or  personal 
beings,  in  an  intelligible  way.  Impersonal  forces  and  laws 
seem  to  intervene  somehow  between  the  events  and  the  acts 
of  volition  to  which  they  are  at  most  only  indirectly  re- 
ferred. 

This  conception  of  the  universe  is  greatly  reinforced  by 
the  modern  man's  familiarity  with  machinery.  Many  minds 
which  loyally  maintain  a  theistic  conception  of  the  universe 
have  derived  from  the  machine  their  idea  of  the  relation  of 
the  physical  world  to  the  divine  intelligence.  They  seem  to 
think  that  God  made  the  universe  and  ordained  the  laws  of 
nature ;  and  that  nature  operates  under  the  control  of  those 
laws,  which  really  determine  all  specific  changes.  The  sig- 
nificant aspect  of  it  is  that  for  their  thought  the  actual  per- 
sonal activity  of  God  is  moved  back  one  or  perhaps  many 
links  in  the  chain  of  causation.  God  is  in  the  background, 
and  intervening  between  His  will  and  the  events  of  the 
natural  world  is  a  vast  apparatus  of  forces  and  laws,  im- 
personal and  unchangeable  in  their  operation.  In  the 
thought  of  such  persons,  God  is  no  more  personally  respon- 
sible for  any  human  tragedies  that  may  result  from  the 
operation  of  those  laws  than  the  engineer  is  for  the  mangling 
of  an  unfortunate  victim  who  is  accidentally  caught  in  the 
machinery  which  he  is  superintending.  Another  significant 
aspect  of  this  mode  of  thought  is  that  while  God  moves  far- 
ther into  the  background,  the  human  control  of  these 
natural  forces  becomes  more  obvious  and  extensive.  Men 
see  that  they  are  actually  gaining  power  to  direct  the  oper- 
ation of  those  forces  before  which  they  once  stood  in  help- 


THE   MODERN    MIND  357 

less,  trembling  awe  as  the  expressions  of  the  moods  and  voli- 
tions of  mysterious  superhuman  beings;  and  there  is  nd 
wonder  that  they  should  think  of  the  human  intelligence  as 
already  something  more  than  a  novice  in  the  midst  of  the 
universal  machinery  of  natural  forces,  rapidly  acquiring  the 
skill  either  to  bend  them  to  human  service  or  to  protect  man 
against  the  dangers  of  their  uncontrolled  operation. 

There  are  others  whose  philosophy  is  more  spiritual  and 
who  think  of  nature  as  animated  by  a  great  soul  whose  life 
pulsates  through  it  all,  causing  all  change.  But  the  univer- 
sal life  of  this  type  of  thought  is  in  constant  danger  of 
losing  the  distinctive  marks  of  personality.  So  in  one  way 
or  another  the'  modern  trend  is  to  depersonalize  the  entire 
universe  wherein  natural  law  is  seen  to  obtain. 

What  is  the  explanation  of  this  tendency?  It  is  not  safe 
to  dogmatize  as  to  the  reason.  But  we  offer  the  following 
tentative  explanation.  It  is  probably  due  to  an  inclination, 
almost  irresistible,  to  regard  the  acts  of  personalities  as 
variable  or  incalculable.  Human  personalities  are  so  largely 
impulsive,  so  little  controlled  by  rational  considerations,  that 
they  seem  incalculable.  It  is  doubtless  true  that  the  more 
completely  controlled  by  impulse  a  person  is,  the  more  cal- 
culable his  action  would  really  be,  if  all  the  obscure  and  com- 
plex conditions  of  the  action  could  be  seen  and  understood. 
But  these  are  always  hidden  for  the  most  part.  Even  the 
actor  himself,  especially  if  he  is  impulsive,  is  often  just  as  ig- 
norant of  these  conditions  as  his  fellow-men,  or  more  so.  It 
is  also  true  that  action  absolutely  controlled  by  reason  would 
always  appear  regular,  orderly,  calculable,  if  all  the  con- 
siderations influencing  it  were  clearly  apparent.  But  such  a 
person  would  be  moving  on  a  plane  far  above  the  level  of 
the  intelligence  of  men  as  now  constituted;  his  reasons 
would  often  be  hidden  from  their  view;  and  he  would  al- 
most certainly  appear  to  them  irregular  and  incalculable. 
Or  if  his  action  occurred  with  a  regularity  that  was  obvious, 
it  would  inevitably  often  appear  arbitrary  and  unreasonable ; 
or  mechanical  and  non-moral.  We  have,  therefore,  come  to 


358  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

associate  a  large  measure  of  variability,  irregularity  and 
incalculability  of  procedure  with  personality;  and  when  we 
discover  that  a  series  of  phenomena  recurs  according  to  a 
fixed  and  invariable  sequence,  we  attribute  it  to  the  agency 
of  non-personal  forces. 

But  it  is  not  alone  the  perception  of  the  universal  prev- 
alence of  law  which  makes  this  tendency  so  strong.  So  far 
as  the  regularity  and  uniformity  of  natural  phenomena  are 
concerned,  it  is  possible  to  interpret  them  as  the  expressions 
of  a  rational  and  orderly  mind,  though  there  is  a  strong  ten- 
dency to  do  otherwise.  But  upon  the  modern  mind  nature 
makes  an  impression  of  being  non-moral,  which  for  most 
men  completely  precludes  the  interpretation  of  natural  proc- 
esses in  terms  of  personal  will.  While  in  a  general  way  and 
on  the  whole,  nature  appears  to  favour  the  development  of 
life,  in  a  concrete  and  specific  way  it  is  amazingly  indifferent 
to  moral  distinctions.  The  plague  sweeps  away  the  good 
and  the  bad  alike ;  the  drouth  burns  the  fields  that  belong  to 
the  saint  just  as  it  does  those  that  belong  to  the  sinner; 
earthquakes  tumble  into  ruins  the  homes  of  the  virtuous 
and  the  vicious,  the  temples  of  worship  and  the  haunts  of 
wickedness  with  a  striking  lack  of  discrimination.  What 
does  the  lightning  ask  as  to  the  character  of  the  man  or  the 
structure  destroyed  by  its  bolt?  And  nature  bestows  her 
favours  in  the  same  indiscriminate  fashion.  Of  course,  a 
series  of  actions  of  the  most  rational  character  may  seem 
non-moral  or  even  immoral  to  one  who  does  not  see  the 
rational  and  moral  considerations  guiding  the  actor.  But 
the  general  conception  of  nature  in  the  thought  of  this  age 
is  that  its  processes  absolutely  ignore  moral  distinctions.  If 
we  postulate  as  the  ultimate  goal  of  the  processes  of  nature 
some  far-off  moral  end  —  in  the  progress  toward  which  they 
so  strangely  ignore  the  moral  distinctions  —  we  are  walking 
by  faith,  not  by  scientific  sight. 

For  these  reasons  the  modern  mind  has  become  very  much 
confused  as  to  the  relation  of  God  to  the  universe.  Once 
men  seemed  to  find  little  difficulty  in  giving  a  religious  inter- 


THE   MODERN    MIND  359 

pretation  of  natural  phenomena.  The  minister  of  religion 
proclaimed  with  assured  conviction  the  divine  purposes  in 
storms  and  pestilences,  in  smiling  fields  of  plenty,  in  sun- 
shine and  rain,  in  sickness  and  health,  in  eclipses  and  con- 
junctions of  the  heavenly  bodies,  in  all  the  natural  occur- 
rences which  touched,  or  seemed  to  touch,  the  interests  of 
human  beings ;  and  the  people  received  these  interpretations 
with  almost  unquestioning  assent.  But  now  the  preacher  is 
usually  hesitant  or  dumb  on  this  theme;  and  when  he  con- 
tinues the  role  of  interpreter  of  the  religious  significance  of 
natural  phenomena,  his  utterances  are  treated  by  minds 
formed  in  the  scientific  mould  as  impious  presumption  or 
idle  guessing. 

But  the  difficulty  becomes  more  serious  still  when  natural 
law  comes  to  be  considered  as  universal,  covering  the  realm 
of  mind  as  well  as  that  of  the  physical  world.  If,  as  its 
sway  is  perceived  to  extend  in  all  directions,  natural  law 
precludes  the  interpretation  of  the  phenomena  it  covers  in 
terms  of  the  free  determination  of  personal  will,  what  must 
be  the  inevitable  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter  ?  That  is  a 
philosophical  problem  of  the  first  magnitude;  and  it  is  not 
within  the  purview  of  this  book  to  offer  a  solution  of  it, 
though  I  can  not  refrain  from  offering  one  or  two  sugges- 
tions as  to  the  direction  in  which  the  solution  must  be  sought. 
First,  the  concepts  of  "  natural  law,"  "  cause  "  and  "  effect  " 
must  be  subjected  to  a  radical  criticism,  which  will  certainly 
show  that  as  usually  held  they  are  exceedingly  crude  and 
superficial  ideas  —  objectivizing  and  hypostatizing  pure  men- 
tal constructions.  A  natural  law,  reduced  to  simple  terms, 
is  only  the  uniformity  or  invariability  of  a  series  of 
phenomena.  But  that  uniformity  or  invariability  of  se- 
quences we  erect  into  an  objective  entity,  and  regard  it,  thus 
objectivized,  as  the  explanation  of  the  invariable  sequences 
of  which  it  is,  in  fact,  only  the  human  formulation.  We 
have  thus  expelled  from  the  natural  universe  the  multitude 
of  phantom  spirits  with  which  the  primitive  man  populated 
it  as  his  explanation  of  natural  phenomena  and  replaced 


360  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

them  with  impersonal  natural  laws,  which  are  as  truly  men- 
tal constructions  of  ours  as  the  spirits  were  of  primitive 
men.  It  may  well  be  asked  whether,  apart  from  the  dis- 
covery of  the  uniformities  of  nature,  which  the  primitive 
man  did  not  perceive,  we  have  really  made  any  advance  in 
this  matter.  In  the  second  place,  our  concepts  of  "  will " 
and  "  freedom "  must  also  undergo  a  careful  revision. 
Along  these  lines  it  will  probably  be  possible  to  bring  about 
a  consistent  correlation  of  natural  law  with  personal  action. 
But  such  a  philosophical  solution  of  the  difficulty,  if  effected, 
will  modify  popular  modes  of  thought  only  after  a  long 
time;  and  it  is  the  analysis  of  those  popular  modes  of 
thought  which  now  engages  us.  Certainly  the  scientific  and 
growingly  popular  conception  of  natural  processes  and  laws 
as  wholly  mechanical  and  non-moral,  devoid  of  the  impress 
of  personal  will  and  purpose,  presents  a  serious  problem 
for  the  preacher;  because  it  renders  it  very  difficult  to  give 
a  religious  interpretation  of  the  universe,  which  seems 
throughout  to  be  the  sphere  of  natural  law. 

(7)  The  fact  that  the  foreground  of  the  consciousness 
of  the  modern  man  is  occupied  for  the  most  part  with  human 
relationships  and  a  humanly  controlled  environment  adds 
to  the  confusion  and  helps  to  remove  God,  so  to  speak,  into 
the  background  of  thought.  The  suggestions  of  God's  pres- 
ence are  not  so  frequent  or  obvious,  nor  the  sense  of  His 
presence  so  constant.  The  environment  does  not  seem  so 
manifestly  to  point  one  toward  the  superhuman.  Religion 
is  not  eliminated.  Those  primal  instincts  which  are  organ- 
ized into  the  very  foundation  of  the  personality  and  with 
which  the  religious  consciousness  is  so  closely  connected  can 
not  be  suppressed.  Again  and  again  occurrences  happen  in 
which  a  superhuman  being  seems  to  crash  through  the 
humanly  organized  environment  and  to  advertise  his  pres- 
ence in  a  most  impressive  and  solemn  way.  But  do  not 
these  occasions  become  less  frequent,  as  man's  control  over 
nature  extends  ?  At  any  rate,  the  religious  interpretation  of 
concrete  experiences  is  less  common  and  is  felt  by  the 


THE   MODERN   MIND  361 

average  man  to  have  far  less  reality  than  under  the  con- 
trasted conditions  of  more  primitive  life. 

Those  deep  instincts,  indeed,  which  assert  themselves  in 
moments  of  exceptional  crisis  or  peril  and  compel  us  to  give 
a  religious  interpretation  of  experience  are  not  in  many 
minds  habitually  supported  by  the  intellectual  processes.  In 
the  supreme  excitement  of  those  unusual  impending  dangers, 
the  rational  processes  are  inhibited;  and  the  naked  instincts 
seem  to  control  the  reaction  in  such  situations.  The  man 
becomes  suddenly  religious  and  calls  on  God ;  but  when  the 
excitement  is  over  and  he  drops  back  into  his  ordinary  in- 
tellectual grooves,  he  moves  along  again  on  a  level  on  which 
there  is  no  very  definite  or  urgent  sense  of  the  immediate 
activity  of  God  in  the  processes  of  the  world.  The  ordi- 
nary incidents  of  experience  are  traced  no  further  than  to 
secondary  natural  causes,  or  to  human  actions  and  condi- 
tions. In  the  minds  of  many  people  living  in  our  great 
centres  of  population  the  sense  of  God  becomes  very  faint 
—  seems,  indeed,  to  survive  only  in  those  fundamental  in- 
stincts which  form  the  roots  of  it;  and  is  rarely  awakened 
into  life  except  in  certain  great  crises,  which  are  probably 
becoming  more  rare  with  the  extension  of  human  control. 

All  experience  seems  to  show  that  the  vitality  of  re- 
ligious belief  is  closely  connected  with  the  more  pressing 
problems  of  human  existence,  if  it  be  not  true  that  it  is  a 
flower  that  grows  in  the  soil  of  the  more  urgent  hu- 
man needs.  Unquestionably  the  sense  of  deep  need 
adds  greatly  to  the  feeling  of  reality  of  those  objects  in 
which  alone  the  need  can  find  satisfaction.  We  elsewhere 
suggest  that  faith,  in  the  sense  of  religious  belief,  might  be 
defined  as  the  soul's  affirmation  of  the  reality  of  those 
supersensible  objects  which  seem  necessary  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  its  fundamental  needs.  Now,  the  foremost  and  most 
urgent  problem  of  men  under  modern  conditions  is  not  ad- 
justment to  a  mysterious  and  uncontrollable  physical  uni- 
verse. There  are  still  difficulties,  of  course,  in  that  realm 
of  our  experience ;  but  the  conviction  exists  in  many  minds 


362  PSYCHOLOGY    AND    PREACHING 

that  we  have  in  the  wonderful  resources  of  inventive  human 
genius  at  least  the  clue  to  adjustment  with  that  part  of  our 
environment.  At  any  rate,  the  sense  of  maladjustment 
seems  stronger  in  the  field  of  the  human  environment. 
Ethical  and  social  problems  are  to  the  front  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  modern  men.  Human  intelligence  and  will  are 
largely  preoccupied  with  the  need  of  establishing  and  main- 
taining satisfactory  relations  of  men  with  one  another; 
which  is  true  not  so  much  as  to  individual  contacts  as  to  the 
many-sided  and  complicated  institutional  life.  This  human 
and  humanly  controlled  environment  presses  upon  a  man 
from  every  side;  it  encompasses  him  like  an  atmosphere. 
With  the  crowding  together  of  men  in  dense  populations, 
there  come  the  increasing  complexity  and  interdependence 
of  the  social  organization  and  the  multiplication  of  rela- 
tionships; and  in  and  through  it  all  there  is  a  pervading 
consciousness  of  maladjustment  and  of  distress,  which  at 
bottom  is  more  moral  than  it  is  physical,  though  elements  of 
the  latter  are  by  no  means  wanting.  There  is,  indeed,  the 
sense  of  being  caught  in  a  vast  and  tangled  maze  of 
problems  whose  urgency  is  only  equalled  by  their  enor- 
mous difficulty.  Nearly  all  thoughtful  minds  have  a  feel- 
ing that,  as  members  of  a  great  social  order,  we  are 
under  the  necessity  of  working  out  solutions  of  prob- 
lems whose  widely  ramifying  difficulties  are  among  the  most 
baffling  which  have  ever  confronted  the  human  mind.  They 
constitute  a  most  insistent  challenge  to  the  intelligence  and 
the  conscience  of  the  modern  mind,  and  their  emotional  ap- 
peal is  hardly  less  strong. 

Take  but  a  momentary  glance  into  the  vast  social  life 
whose  tides  surge  around  us.  Problems  stare  at  you  like 
sphinxes  no  matter  in  what  direction  you  turn  your  gaze. 
Now,  there  are  some  problems  which  have  a  more  universal 
character  than  others;  some  which  are  more  practical  than 
others ;  some  that  are  more  inevitable  than  others ;  and  there 
are  some  which  are  notable  in  that  they  have  all  three  char- 
acteristics. They  are  universal,  that  is  they  press  upon  all 


THE   MODERN    MIND  363 

the  people;  they  are  practical  in  that  they  call  for  action; 
they  are  inevitable  in  that  they  must  be  met  one  way  or 
another.  The  problems  of  social  adjustment  are  of  this 
character.  If  we  look  into  the  economic  sphere,  what  do  we 
see?  We  see  that  its  problems  come  home  to  everybody; 
that  they  touch  our  daily  lives  in  the  most  practical  ways; 
and  also  that  no-  evasion  of  them  is  possible.  It  is  evident, 
too,  that  our  attitude  toward  these  problems  has  its  subtle 
and  far-reaching  reaction  upon  all  other  departments  of  our 
interests  and  activity.  Around  about  these  issues  can  be 
seen  the  myriads  of  human  beings  swiftly  grouping  them- 
selves into  great  masses  with  increasingly  definite  programs 
of  action.  The  issue  of  this  mighty  controversy  is  nothing 
less  than  a  drastic  reorganization  of  human  society.  One 
can  not  read  the  literature  of  this  subject,  as  it  comes  warm 
from  all  the  groaning  printing  presses  of  the  land,  without 
perceiving  that  these  problems  are  calling  forth  not  only  the 
most  daring  and  ingenious  exploits  of  human  intelligence, 
but  also  the  deepest  and  most  serious  passions  of  the  human 
soul.  All  our  interests  are  involved,  whether  material  and 
selfish,  or  ideal  and  moral. 

If  one  looks  into  the  political  sphere  there  is  a  similar 
situation.  More  and  more  the  State  is  being  drawn  into  the 
consideration  of  the  economic  problems.  Mighty  economic 
forces  are  struggling  for  the  control  of  the  sovereign  au- 
thority. But  apart  from  this  struggle  of  the  economic 
giants  in  the  political  arena,  there  are  deep  and  vital  ques- 
tions concerning  the  relation  of  the  individual  to  the  State ; 
concerning  the  causes  of  crime  and  the  treatment  of  the 
criminal ;  concerning  the  relations  between  the  local  and  the 
general  governments ;  concerning  the  relations  between  the 
great  nations  of  the  earth,  involving  tariffs,  immigration,  ar- 
maments, peace  and  war,  international  tribunals  —  all  of 
them  questions  of  social  adjustment  of  profound  significance 
and  of  the  utmost  urgency.  If  these  things  were  true  un- 
der the  normal  conditions  which  existed  prior  to  the  out- 
burst of  the  great  war,  how  tremendously  has  this  enormous 


364  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

crisis  emphasized  them !  This  convulsion  of  the  world  of 
humanity  has  given  to  all  the  problems  of  economic  and 
political  adjustment  such  compelling  urgency  that  they  tax 
the  energy  of  the  human  spirit  to  the  utmost,  and  must  con- 
tinue to  do  so  after  the  storm  has  passed. 

If  attention  be  turned  to  the  religious  sphere,  one  surely 
finds  nothing  there  but  bristling  problems.  But  among  them 
all  there  is  none  that  is  more  practically  pressing  and  acute 
than  that  of  the  adjustment  of  the  religious  forces  and 
groups  to  one  another.  Within  each  separate  denomination 
questions  of  adjustment  are  urgent.  Between  separate  de- 
nominational organizations  the  problem  is  even  more  acute. 
It  confronts  us  most  insistently  on  the  home  field ;  it  looms 
large  on  the  foreign  mission  field;  and  perhaps  no  issue  in 
religious  debate  develops  a  higher  intensity  of  emotion.  Cor- 
relation and  co-operation  are  advocated  with  profound 
passion  and  resisted  with  a  passion  even  more  uncom- 
promising, if  not  so  buoyant  and  aggressive. 

Now,  is  there  any  wonder  that  men  living  in  an  environ- 
ment like  this,  which  fairly  seethes  with  problems  of  ad- 
justing men  to  one  another  individually  and  collectively,  per- 
sonally and  institutionally,  nationally  and  internationally, 
should  come  to  have  a  keen  sense  of  the  need  of  an  ade- 
quate social  ethic?  There  has  been  a  lightening  of  the 
pressure  of  need  on  the  one  side  of  life,  in  respect  to 
one  of  the  great  factors  of  environment,  and  an  aggrava- 
tion of  it  on  another  side  of  life,  in  respect  to  the  other 
great  factor  of  the  environment.  This  explains  why  the 
religion  which  would  make  an  effective  appeal  to  modern 
men,  even  those  who  have  the  strongest  religious  inclina- 
tions, must  make  manifest  to  them  its  ethical  and  social 
values.  These  values  are  exactly  the  most  convincing  cre- 
dentials which  religion  can  present  to  'the  modern  mind. 
The  too  general  failure  of  current  Christianity  to  meet 
these  needs  is  one  of  the  most  potent  reasons  for  the  wide- 
spread scepticism  and  indifference  to  organized  religion  so 
notable  in  our  great  centres  of  population. 


THE    MODERN    MIND  365 

The  growth  of  the  democratic  spirit  is  a  notable  result  of 
the  modern  conditions.  The  profound  changes  we  have  dis- 
cussed inevitably  bring  about  the  breakdown  of  the  caste 
spirit.  Class  barriers,  if  they  do  not  fall  away,  are  so  much 
weakened  that  men  pass  with  ease  from  one  social  grade  to 
another,  and  a  significant  change  comes  about  in  the  attitude 
both  of  the  lower  and  of  the  upper  ranks  of  society.  The 
lowly  of  the  earth  lift  their  heads  and  aspire.  Those  masses 
which,  under  the  conditions  of  early  society  were  so  passive 
and  inert,  so  destitute  of  the  sense  of  individual  personal 
worth,  feel  under  modern  conditions  the  kindling  of  a 
strange  flame  in  their  hearts.  Once  they  toiled  and  slaved, 
beast-like,  rebelling  only  when  goaded  beyond  possible  en- 
durance ;  but  even  then  beast-like,  hardly  thinking  of  them- 
selves in  human  terms.  Now  they  feel  themselves  to  be 
men  and  claim  with  increasingly  emphatic  insistence  all  the 
privileges  of  humanity.  Their  minds  under  the  powerful 
social  stimulus  of  modern  life  wake  up  and  cry  out  for 
knowledge,  and,  with  the  attainment  of  knowledge,  they 
reach  out  for  political  and  industrial  power.  Personal  am- 
bitions stir  within  them.  Each  feels  himself  to  be  "  as  good 
as  anybody  else."  They  look  with  growing  discontent  upon 
the  unequal  and  inequitable  division  of  the  world's  goods, 
economic  and  cultural.  If  the  bitterness  which  they  feel 
sometimes  bursts  forth  in  deeds  of  violence,  we  need  not 
be  surprised. 

That  sombre  genius,  Amiel,1  has  bitterly  declared  that 
these  modern  conditions  were  the  breeding  ground  of  spleen 
and  envy.  And  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  intensification 
of  the  competitive  struggle  may  and  sometimes  does  result 
from  the  kindling  of  all  men's  spirits  with  the  ambition 
which  says  "  I  am  as  good  as  anybody."  It  often  expresses 
itself  in  the  determination  "  to  have  as  much  as  others  at  all 
costs."  But,  while  it  often  finds  expression  in  crude,  un- 
ethical struggle  to  surpass  others,  even  by  pulling  others 
down,  the  democratic  spirit  is  at  heart  not  anti-social.  Its 

1  Fragments  d'un  Journal  Intime,  Tome  I,  p.  31. 


366  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

true  and  growing  and  permanent  expression  is  the  struggle 
to  realize  equality  of  opportunity  for  all  and  the  complete 
unification  of  the  interests  of  all.  Evidently  this  spirit  could 
not  have  a  large  growth  among  men  until  social  de- 
velopment had  reached  a  stage  which  accustomed  men  to 
regard  the  conditions  .of  life  as  largely  determined  by  man. 

The  aspiring  ambition  of  the  lowly  is  answered  in  the 
modern  world  by  an  equally  significant  change  of  attitude 
on  the  part  of  those  more  fortunately  situated.  The  social- 
democratic  spirit  has  strangely  infected  "  the  upper  classes." 
Men  and  women  of  those  classes  feel  that  the  real  meaning 
of  life  is  to  be  found  in  this  struggle  to  equalize  human  op- 
portunities and  unify  human  interests  —  to  build  about  men 
an  environment  which  will  assure  to  all  the  fundamental  con- 
ditions of  a  truly  human  existence  and  stimulate  every  one 
to  realize  in  the  service  of  all  the  best  and  highest  of  which 
he  is  capable.  This  conception  of  the  true  mission  of  the 
fortunately  situated  could  not  have  become  so  dominant 
until  after  men  had  come  to  realize  that  the  environment  in 
which  they  lived  was  in  its  most  significant  factors  man- 
made.  But  neither  could  the  social  spirit  have  attained  the 
proportions  of  a  popular  enthusiasm,  influencing  all  classes, 
if  the  souls  of  men  had  not  been  touched  by  Christian  in- 
spiration. This  spirit  exactly  answers  the  genius  of  Chris- 
tianity; and  neither  can  attain  a  triumph  without  a  triumph 
of  the  other.  It  is  a  great  task  of  the  pulpit  to  inculcate 
those  principles  which,  while  emphasizing  the  right  to  free 
individual  self-expression,  point  men  to  service  as  the  true 
road  to  self-realization. 

(8)  If  we  ask  more  specifically  as  to  the  influence  of  all 
these  conditions  upon  the  idea  of  God,  we  shall  find  that 
conception  undergoing  modification  in  two  general  direc- 
tions. 

First,  as  to  the  idea  of  God  in  the  minds  of  those  whose 
mental  attitudes  have  been  profoundly  influenced  by  science, 
as  well  as  by  the  humanly  controlled  environment.  They 
form  a  comparatively  small  group,  to  be  sure;  but  even  in 


THE   MODERN    MIND  367 

numbers  they  are  not  insignificant,  and  they  are  an  exceed- 
ingly important  factor  in  their  influence  upon  the  intellectual 
life  of  the  rising  generation.  In  this  group  the  tendency  is 
toward  vagueness  and  indefiniteness  in  their  conception  of 
the  divine  nature.  God  is  regarded  as  a  great  influence  or 
principle,  the  soul  of  goodness,  truth,  righteousness,  beauty. 
But  He  is  not  clearly  personalized.  Perhaps  there  has  been 
no  more  succinct  expression  of  this  idea  of  God  than 
Matthew  Arnold's  memorable  phrase  — "  a  power  not  our- 
selves that  make  3  for  righteousness."  To  such  minds  the 
attribution  of  definite  personality  to  God  seems  to  belittle 
Him,  and  also  to  involve  too  many  rational  difficulties.  So 
the  idea  hangs  in  the  background  of  their  minds  as  a  sort  of 
semi-luminous  cloud  —  beautiful  but  indefinite. 

We  can  see  now,  I  think,  how  there  has  come  to  be  a  class 
of  men  who  exhibit  a  high  ethical  and  social  enthusiasm, 
while  disclaiming  attachment  to  any  form  of  organized 
Christianity  and  any  definite  theological  belief.  It  may 
be  true,  and  probably  is,  that  ethical  enthusiasm  involves 
implicitly  a  conception  of  and  an  attitude  toward  the  uni- 
verse which  is  essentially  religious.  However  that  may  be, 
it  is  certain  that  under  modern  conditions  there  are  to  be 
found  many  ethical  idealists  whose  religious  presuppositions 
are  too  indefinite  to  receive  an  intelligible  theological  for- 
mulation. This  type  constitutes  an  interesting  psychological 
phenomenon  of  our  present-day  life.  They  are  not  "  the 
moralists  "  who  were  the  objects  of  such  severe  warnings 
from  the  old-time  preachers.  They  are  not  men  who  are 
looking  for  individual  salvation  on  the  ground  of  negative 
goodness,  or  a  formal  correctness  of  life  —  an  attitude  of 
mind  which  has  certain  fairly  definite  theological  presup- 
positions. The  men  of  whom  we  now  are  speaking  are 
striving  for  social  salvation  rather  than  complacently  cal- 
culating upon  individual  salvation ;  and  have  as  little  patience 
with  a  negative  and  formal  goodness  as  the  preacher  who  is 
passionately  pointing  out  the  delusive  character  of  "  mere 
morality."  They  are  enthusiasts,  idealists,  altruists.  Their 


368  PSYCHOLOGY   AND   PREACHING 

intellects  are  lit  only  by  the  afterglow  of  a  faith  whose 
sun  is  set,  but  their  lives  are  fruitful  in  ethical  ideals  and 
enterprise.  This  interesting  phenomenon  is  mentioned  not 
for  the  purpose  of  discussing  it  according  to  its  importance, 
but  only  to  point  out  the  relation  between  the  mental  atti- 
tude of  such  men  and^the  conditions  of  our  modern  life. 

Second,  we  consider  those  whose  thought  of  God,  while 
it  has  been  influenced  more  or  less  by  the  scientific  spirit, 
has  been  mainly  determined  by  the  practical,  daily  contact 
with  a  predominantly  human  environment.  With  them  the 
tendency  is  to  magnify  humanity  and  to  humanize  God.  By 
the  latter  expression  we  do  not  mean  to  imply  that  an  an- 
thropomorphic conception  of  God  has  not  prevailed  at  every 
stage  of  human  progress.  But  the  primitive  man's  idea  of 
God  was  deeply  coloured  by  the  mysterious  and  awful  as- 
pects of  nature;  while  the  tendency  of  modern  life  is  to 
purge  the  God-idea  of  these  elements.  The  religious  book  x 
which  is  perhaps  the  most  widely  read  and  most  remarkable 
produced  in  this  stormy  epoch  proclaims  outright  and  with 
the  enthusiasm  of  intense  conviction  a  finite  and  human  God. 
And  there  are  many  signs  indicating  that  among  the  ortho- 
dox the  drift,  while  it  has  not  by  any  means  reached  that 
extreme,  is  in  the  same  general  direction. 

The  sentiment  of  awe  in  religion  has  been  weakened. 
Men  do  not  prostrate  themselves  before  the  deity  with  such 
a  profound  sense  of  their  own  nothingness.  They  do  not 
think  of  themselves  any  more  as  the  mere  pawns  on  the 
chessboard  of  the  universe.  The  sense  of  human  power, 
human  worth,  human  dignity,  is  a  significant  feature  of 
the  modern  man's  religious  consciousness.  This  change, 
wrought  by  modern  conditions  of  life,  is  more  easily  felt 
than  formulated ;  but  somehow  humanity  stands  for  more  in 
Christian  thought  and  feeling.  The  kindlier,  human  aspects 
of  Christianity  receive  a  greater  relative  emphasis.  The 
humanity  of  Jesus  is  far  more  emphasized,  and  this  even 
when  his  essential  unity  with  God  is  not  denied.  Indeed, 

i  Wells,  "  God,  The  Invisible  King." 


THE   MODERN   MIND  369 

the  Unitarian  revolt  does  not  seem  to  have  been  a  result  of 
the  conditions  now  under  consideration,  but  was  rather  a 
metaphysical  protest  growing  out  of  the  logical  difficulty 
involved  in  the  doctrine  of  the  trinity,  and  based  upon  con- 
ceptions of  God  and  man  which  modern  conditions  are  pro- 
foundly modifying.  In  the  religious  consciousness  of  men 
of  this  type  the  hiatus  between  the  divine  and  the  human 
seems  very  much  less  than  to  men  of  the  earlier  period. 
Man  has  not  been  deified,  though  some  extremists  go  almost 
that  far;  nor  has  God  been  abased  to  the  rank  and  propor- 
tions of  man,  though  His  personality  has  been  more  humanly 
conceived.  The  complaint  is  not  un frequently  heard  that 
people  are  not  as  reverent  as  they  were  in  the  olden  time. 
In  a  certain  sense  the  statement  is  true.  But  it  is  a  mistake 
to  attribute  this  wholly  or  mainly  to  a  lack  of  respect  for 
divine  and  holy  things.  It  is  just  as  likely  to  be  due  to  an 
increased  respect  for  man,  a  higher  appreciation  of  the 
human,  simply  as  such,  and  to  the  growing  feeling  that  God 
is  actuated  by  motives  that  human  beings  can  understand 
and  looks  with  kindly  and  sympathetic  interest  upon  the 
ordinary  human  impulses  and  experiences  of  every  sort. 
The  sense  of  being  in  the  presence  of  God  does  not  under 
ordinary  conditions  repress  the  natural  human  impulses  as  it 
did  in  former  times  and  under  other  circumstances.  The 
most  devout  people  gathered  in  a  place  dedicated  to  the 
worship  of  the  Divine  Being  do  not  have  the  consciousness 
of  the  presence  of  a  mysterious  and  awful  majesty  whose 
power  is  directed  by  purposes  which  lie  wholly  beyond  the 
comprehension  of  men  and  into  which  it  is  presumption  for 
them  to  inquire.  There  was  a  certain  strain  of  vague  terror 
characteristic  of  the  earlier  type  of  piety  which  seems  to  have 
almost  disappeared  from  the  religious  experience  of  this  age. 
How  much  we  may  have  gained,  and  how  much  we  may 
have  lost,  by  this  subtile  climatic  change  in  the  religious 
life  is  a  question  for  serious  thought ;  but  that  such  a  change 
has  been  going  on  can  hardly  be  questioned.  Nor  can  it  be 
doubted  that  the  increasing  importance  of  the  human  as 


37O  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

against  the  natural  factors  of  the  environment  is  largely  re- 
sponsible for  it,  although  it  should  be  kept  in  mind  that 
other  equally  pervasive  and  perhaps  as  powerful  forces  are 
working  in  the  same  general  direction. 

The  same  tendency  may  be  observed  in  the  growing  belief 
in  man's  control  over  his  spiritual  destinies.  The  evan- 
gelistic appeal  places  more  emphasis  upon  the  decisions  of 
the  human  will.  One  listening  to  the  evangelists,  today,  is 
struck  by  the  frequency  and  prominence  of  such  phrases  as 
"  making  up  one's  mind,"  "  deciding  for  Christ "  and  "  ac- 
cepting or  rejecting  Christ";  and  this  even  among  those 
by  whom  the  ancient  doctrines  of  divine  fore-ordination  and 
unconditional  election  are  still  theoretically  retained.  Like- 
wise, in  the  theory  of  preaching  most  widely  current  today, 
there  is  an  unwonted  emphasis  upon  the  influencing  of  the 
human  will  as  the  definite  objective  in  preaching.  The 
notion  is  already  widespread  and  rapidlly  spreading  both 
among  the  religious  psychologists  and  the  unsophisticated 
plain  people  that  the  religious  life  is  fundamentally  a  matter 
of  training  and  education,  of  surrounding  the  young  with 
the  proper  human  environment.  Even  among  the  most  con- 
servative there  has  been  a  decided  increase  in  the  sense  of 
the  importance  of  the  educational  process  in  the  genesis  and 
development  of  the  religious  life.  The  eternal  destiny  of  the 
soul  is,  today,  thought  to  be  in  the  main  the  fruition  of 
the  individual's  own  volition  plus  the  influences  of  his 
human  environment  —  certainly  this  is  far  more  true  now 
than  in  any  previous  age  of  the  world.  Heaven  and  hell  are 
felt  to  be  the  issues  of  human  choices  and  human  condi- 
tions, among  those  who  maintain  a  definite  and  robust  belief 
in  hell  —  for  other  general  causes,  mainly  of  a  sociological 
character,  have  to  a  large  extent  weakened  that  belief  in  the 
popular  mind.  In  general,  man's  relation  to  God  is  thought 
of  as  one  of  co-operation  or  of  opposition  far  more  than  in 
primitive  conditions;  and  this  growing  sense  of  man's  con- 
trol over  his  spiritual  destiny  seems  to  have  some  connection 
with  the  consciousness  of  the  range  and  power  of  human 


THE    MODERN    MIND  371 

volition,  which  is  naturally  developed  by  living  in  an  environ- 
ment humanly  organized  and  controlled. 

These  conditions  are  producing  a  notable  change  in  the 
whole  realm  of  philosophical  thinking.  The  pervasive  in- 
fluence of  modern  conditions  has  not  been  crystallized  into  a 
complete  and  definite  philosophical  system;  indeed,  these 
conditions  are  not  favourable  to  the  formation  and  general 
acceptance  of  a  logically  finished  system  of  thought.  Life  is 
too  complex,  too  dynamic,  too  changeful  to  yield  itself  read- 
ily to  finished  theoretical  formulation.  The  elaboration  of 
completed  systems  of  philosophy  was  much  better  suited  to  a 
simpler  and  more  static  condition  of  society.  But  if  no 
rounded  system  of  philosophy  has  sprung  from  the  condi- 
tions of  our  present-day  life,  nor  is  likely  to,  there  is  never- 
theless a  well-defined  drift  in  philosophical  thinking.  Those 
types  of  theoretical  thought,  known  as  Pragmatism,  Human- 
ism, Voluntarism,  Personalism,  seem  to  be  in  part  at  least 
the  natural  reaction  upon  the  speculative  intellect  of  the 
relative  prominence  of  the  humanly  controlled  environment. 
Underlying  them  all  is  the  general  idea  that  human  wills  are 
dynamic,  creative  forces  co-operating  with  or  opposing,  it 
may  be,  a  higher  will  or  wills,  and  all  together  fashioning  a 
universe  which  is  in  course  of  construction.  It  looks  like  a 
simple,  universal  inference  which  a  theoretical  mind  could 
hardly  fail  to  draw  from  the  visible  and  evermore  thrilling 
achievements  of  man's  intelligence  in  actually  fashioning  the 
world  in  which  he  lives.  This  type  of  thought  has  had  a 
profound  influence  upon  the  theological  thinking  of  our 
times,  for  theological  thought  must  always  take  the  colour  of 
the  philosophy  that  prevails  in  any  given  age.  Elaborately 
wrought  out  and  widely  accepted  systems  of  theology  seem 
to  become  more  rare,  though  perhaps  there  has  been  no  de- 
cline of  interest  in  the  intellectual  problems  of  religion. 
Men  think  upon  these  problems  yet,  and  think  profoundly, 
and  the  conclusions  which  they  reach  seem  to  be  notably  in- 
fluenced by  the  humanistic  and  pragmatic  modes  of  thought 
which  have  come  to  be  so  prevalent  in  our  times. 


372  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

When  a  child  is  born,  today,  it  is  the  heir  of  a  marvellously 
rich  human  culture.  All  the  accumulated  achievements  of 
the  past  of  the  human  race  are  round  about  the  newborn 
man  —  ideals,  ethical  codes,  governments,  laws,  economies, 
religions,  sciences,  philosophies ;  and  all  are  organized  into  a 
vast  aggregation  of  institutions  behind  which  lies  the  long 
perspective  of  a  rich  and  varied  history.  Into  this  great  and 
manysided  culture  the  newcomer  must  be  initiated.  That 
is  the  work  of  education,  and  the  educational  period  is  neces- 
sarily lengthened  as  this  culture  becomes  richer  and  more  ex- 
tensive. Indeed,  it  already  requires  more  than  a  life-time 
for  a  man  to  gain  a  fair  acquaintance  with  the  accumulated 
results  of  human  progress.  The  stream  of  culture  dwindles 
to  a  tiny  brooklet  as  we  trace  it  back  into  the  depths  of  an- 
tiquity; but,  today,  it  has  become  a  mighty  Amazon,  whose 
shores  lie  beyond  the  reach  of  the  eye.  The  human  domin- 
ion over  nature  has  become  so  extensive,  the  human  organi- 
zation of  life  has  become  so  vast  and  multifarious,  that  from 
the  cradle  to  the  grave  one's  time  is  chiefly  taken  up  in  get- 
ting acquainted  with  and  adjusting  oneself  to  it  all.  Not 
only  so;  this  social  life  which  is  now  truly  oceanic  in  its 
sweep  has  become  less  and  less  the  merely  fortuitous  re- 
sultant of  a  myriad  of  human  wills,  each  striving  for  its 
own  ends  unconscious  of  its  correlation  with  the  others ;  and 
is  coming  to  be  directed  more  and  more  by  a  conscious  col- 
lective intelligence  and  purpose.  Each  individual  is  coming 
to  participate  more  and  more  consciously  in  social  decisions 
and  in  helping  to  organize  an  environment  in  which  the 
human  factors  are  increasingly  dominant.  If  a  man's  life 
were  not  affected  down  to  its  very  roots  by  such  conditions 
it  would  be  a  miracle ;  and  when  we  reflect  that  the  human 
environment  must  become  proportionately  more  and  more 
dominant  throughout  indefinite  future  time,  its  significance 
for  the  mental  and  religious  life  of  man  becomes  a  matter 
of  the  first  importance. 

Are  we  to  conclude,  then,  that  religion  is  destined  to  dis- 
appear? Far  from  it.  It  is  useless  to  deny  that  profound 


THE    MODERN    MIND  373 

changes  are  taking  place  in  religious  ideas  and  in  religious 
experience.  It  must  be  so  in  view  of  such  a  profound 
change  in  the  conditions  of  human  life.  Every  thoughtful 
man  can  readily  sympathize  with  those  earnest  souls  who 
are  deeply  apprehensive  as  to  the  future  of  spiritual  religion. 
It  is  no  wonder  that  it  should  appear  to  many  good  men  as 
if  modern  tendencies  are  putting  in  peril  the  fundamental 
truths  of  Christianity.  Unquestionably  it  is  a  time  for  most 
serious  consideration;  and  the  complacency  of  the  easy- 
going optimism  which  can  see  no  danger  anywhere  is  far 
more  irritating  than  reassuring.  But  surely  a  pessimistic  in- 
terpretation of  those  modern  tendencies  is  not  the  only 
possible  one,  and  is  not  necessary.  A  far  greater  em- 
phasis must  and  will  be  placed  upon  the  ethical  and  social 
aspects  of  religion,  both  in  thought  and  in  experience.  But 
does  that  indicate  the  decline  of  religion  or  the  disappearance 
of  Christianity?  May  we  not  conclude  that  it  points  rather 
in  the  opposite  direction?  Christianity  originated  in  an  age 
not  unlike  this,  though  one  by  no  means  so  far  removed  from 
primitive  conditions.  It  took  root  first  and  most  vigorously 
in  cities  and  achieved  its  greatest  triumphs  among  people 
who  lived  in  an  environment  largely  human  and  humanly 
controlled.  The  great  ideal  which  in  the  New  Testament 
epoch  lay  like  a  rosy  cloud  on  the  horizon  of  the  future  was 
that  of  a  redeemed  and  glorified  city  life.  But  the  primitive 
modes  of  thought  still  remaining  in  that  civilization  had 
already  begun  to  modify  Christianity  to  its  disadvantage, 
when  the  barbarian  invasion  swept  Europe  back  into  condi- 
tions almost  as  primitive  as  those  which  marked  the  tribal 
societies  from  which  the  ancient  world  had  developed. 
Christianity  then  almost  entirely  lost  its  original  simplicity 
and  was  corrupted  by  the  elaboration  of  imposing  cere- 
monies—  many  of  them  thought  of  as  having  a  magical 
potency  —  which  dwarfed  its  ethical  and  social  meaning ;  and 
was  perverted  by  the  establishment  of  a  priesthood  which 
administered  the  magical  rites  and  interposed  itself  between 
God  and  the  common  people.  Notwithstanding  the  present 


374  PSYCHOLOGY  AND  PREACHING 

seeming  peril  to  many  of  the  essential  truths  of  religion,  is  it 
not  reasonable  to  interpret  the  confused  changes  now  going 
on  as  a  gradual  emergence  of  the  fundamental  principle  of 
Christianity,  so  long  obscured?  Certainly  the  conditions 
of  the  present  time  have  tended  to  place  the  emphasis  upon 
the  ethical  element  of  Christianity.  And  did  not  Jesus  place 
the  emphasis  there?  '  A  great  conservative  scholar  says: 
"  Our  Lord's  personal  teachings  consist  mainly  of  mor- 
ality." *  The  natural  inference  would  seem  to  be  that 
Christianity  in  its  primal  and  essential  character  as  a  prin- 
ciple of  life  is  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  conditions  of  this 
age. 

1Broadus,  "Preparation  and  Delivery  of  Sermons,"  p.  86. 


INDEX 


Achievement,  results  of  modern 
passion  for,  352-353. 

Action,  voluntary.  See  Volun- 
tary action. 

Adams  and  Sumner,  "  Labor 
Problems,"  quoted,  315-316. 

Addams,  Jane,  cited  on  kindness 
of  poor  to  one  another,  314. 

Adjustment,  function  of  atten- 
tion as  consciousness  engaged 
in  guiding,  168-169. 

Alertness  of  modern  mind,  as 
compared  with  mind  of  primi- 
tive man,  352. 

Amiel,  "Journal  Intime,"  cited, 
365. 

Angell,  J.  R.,  definition  of  reflex 
act  quoted  from,  i ;  quoted  as 
to  definition  of  instinct,  3 ;  on 
the  emotions,  68;  on  relation 
of  feeling,  the  conscious  side 
of  emotion,  to  the  motor,  or 
physical  side,  71-72;  on  the 
emotions  as  complex  proc- 
esses, 77;  on  relation  between 
emotions  and  culture,  88;  on 
volition  and  attention,  169; 
on  voluntary  attention,  173 ; 
on  shifting  of  the  attention, 
179-180;  on  the  sphere  of  con- 
sciousness, 190. 

Anger,  as  an  emotion  effective 
in  welding  a  crowd,  255-256. 

Animals,  instinct  of  lower,  com- 
pared with  those  of  human 
species,  6-7;  effect  of  differ- 
ence between  nervous  systems 
of  young  of,  and  those  of 
young  of  human  species,  13- 
14;  mode  of  responsiveness 
which  characterizes,  187-188; 
question  of  consciousness  and 
psychical  life  existent  in,  189- 
190. 

375 


Arnold,  Felix,  "Attention  and 
Interest,"  cited,  165;  on  fluc- 
tuations in  attention-waves, 
182. 

Arnold,  Matthew,  idea  of  God 
expressed  by,  367. 

Assemblies,  effect  of,  on  mental 
processes  of  the  individual, 
236 ;  classes  of,  236  ff. ;  the  ac- 
cidental concourse,  236-238 ; 
the  purposive  assembly;  238 
ff. ;  the  inspirational  gather- 
ing, 239;  three  stages  of  men- 
tal unity  in  inspirational  gath- 
erings, 240-244;  stage  of 
mental  unity  of,  suited  to  in- 
struction, 245-246;  methods  of 
promoting  process  of  fusion 
in,  248-254;  kinds  of  emotion 
most  effective  in  promoting 
mental  fusion  in,  254-260; 
question  as  to  whether  process 
of  psychic  fusion  is  conducive 
to  genuine  religious  expe- 
rience, 260-261;  the  deliber- 
ative body,  261-264;  change  in 
character  of  deliberative  as- 
semblies, 264. 

Association,  influences  affecting 
principles  of,  in  modern  so- 
ciety, 63-64. 

Association  of  ideas,  linking  of 
mental  impressions  the  physi- 
cal counterpart  of,  24. 

Assurance,  vital,  as  one  of  the 
classes  of  belief,  152,  153-154. 

Attention,  direction  of,  influ- 
enced by  feeling,  149-150;  out- 
lines of  doctrine  of,  164-165; 
definition  of,  165;  nature  of, 
165-166;  function  of,  as  the 
selective  action  of  conscious- 
ness, 166  ff. ;  moving  of,  along 
line  of  interest,  167;  relation 


376 


INDEX 


of,  to  volition,  169-170;  classi- 
fication of,  in  three  ways,  170; 
compulsory,  170-173 ;  volun- 
tary, 173-175  J  spontaneous, 
175-177;  narrow  scope  of, 
177-178;  constant  shifting  of, 
178-181 ;  fluctuations  in  inten- 
sity or  degree  of,  181-183; 
making  sentences  and  para- 
graphs correspond  to  pulses 
of,  183-185. 

Authority,  importance  of,  as  a 
suggestive  force,  226-227. 

Autonomy,  resistance  of  an  or- 
ganism to  interference  with 
its,  214;  the  higher  the  or- 
ganism, the  greater  its  jeal- 
ousy for  its,  214;  suggestibil- 
ity varies  inversely  as  the 
insistence  of  the  personality 
upon  maintaining  its,  215-216. 

Awe,  weakening  of  sense  of,  in 
present-day  religion,  368. 


Bagley,  W.  C.,  "Educational 
Values,"  cited,  105,  203. 

Baldwin,  J.  M.,  "Thought  and 
Things,"  cited,  164. 

Beecher,  Henry  Ward,  device  of, 
for  compelling  attention,  172 ; 
power  of  oratory  to  promote 
mental  fusion  shown  by,  253 

Belief,  discussion  of,  135  ff. ; 
connection  between  doubt  and, 
145-146,  148-149;  operation  of 
feeling  in  the  determination 
of,  149-152;  primitive  credu- 
lity, rational  conviction,  and 
vital  assurance  the  three  gen- 
eral classes  of,  152-154;  feel- 
ing operative  in  formation  of 
all  three  classes,  154;  religious 
belief  a  member  of  class  of 
vital  assurance,  154-155. 

Bergson,  H.  L.,  cited  as  to  the 
forth-reaching,  onward-mov- 
ing character  of  life.  192. 

Bodily  movement,  concerted,  as 
a  means  of  promoting  process 
of  fusion  in  a  crowd,  250-253. 


Boodin,  J.  E.,  "The  Existence 
of  Social  Minds,"  cited,  249. 

Booth,  "Life  and  Labours  in 
London,"  quoted,  315. 

Broadus,  J.  A.,  "  Preparation 
and  Delivery  of  Sermons," 
discussion  of  structure  of  sen- 
tences in,  132  n.;  quoted  on 
morality  in  Christ's  personal 
teachings,  374. 

Bryan,  W.  J.,  power  of  oratory 
shown  by,  253-254. 

Business  man,  defined,  321 ;  dis- 
tinction made  between  the  in- 
dividual and  the  corporate 
type  of,  321-322;  importance 
of,  under  modern  conditions, 
322-324 ;  intellectual  charac- 
teristics of,  324-328;  ethical 
peculiarities  of,  328-332;  dou- 
ble standard  of  ethics  accepted 
by,  330-332;  religious  pecu- 
liarities of,  332-337. 

Character-making,  importance  of 
sentiments  and  ideals  in,  109- 
no,  112-114. 

Children,  extraordinary  sugges- 
tibility of,  218-220;  quick  ef- 
fect of  crowd-suggestion 
upon,  246-247. 

Christianity,  predisposing  condi- 
tions favouring  rise  of,  276; 
modern  emphasis  upon  ethical 
element  of,  374. 

City,  environmental  conditions 
in  the,  and  mental  effects  of, 

343-349-     . 

Class  consciousness  among  la- 
bouring men,  and  effect  on 
their  ethical  life,  316-318. 

Climatic  factors,  effect  of,  in 
mental  epidemics,  277-278. 

Closed  mind,  attitude  of  the, 
143-144;  dangers  of  this  con- 
dition, 146-147 ;  advantages 
posessed  by  the  open  mind 
over,  147-148. 

Coe,  summary  of  theories  of  the 
subconscious  by,  16-17. 

Collective  moods,  among  the  pre- 


INDEX 


377 


disposing  conditions  of  mental 
epidemics,  274-275. 

Communication,  relation  of  easy 
means  of,  to  mental  epidemics, 
283. 

Compulsory  attention,  character- 
istics of,  170-172. 

Concerted  action,  a  means  of 
promoting  process  of  fusion 
in  an  assembly,  250-253. 

Confidence  of  subject,  securing 
the,  in  use  of  suggestion,  225- 
229. 

Consciousness,  relation  between 
reflex  acts  and,  2 ;  question  of 
extent  of,  involved  in  instinct, 
4;  discussion  of,  as  one  of  the 
controls  of  conduct,  8-n ;  is 
life  become  luminous,  n;  re- 
lation of  habit  to,  11-16;  dim- 
ness of,  in  animals  as  com- 
pared with  man,  13-14;  feel- 
ing-tones an  accompaniment 
of,  65-66;  why  some  expe- 
riences cause  pleasant  and 
others  unpleasant  states  of, 
75~79  ;  attention  defined  as  fo- 
calized, 165-166;  attention  the 
selective  action  of,  166-168; 
attention  the  adaptive  function 
of,  168;  species  of  concentra- 
tion of,  involved  in  spontan- 
eous attention,  175-176;  the 
span  of,  178;  varying  degrees 
of  intensity  of  concentration 
of,  181 ;  degrees  of,  in  veg- 
etable, animal,  and  human  or- 
ganisms, 189-191 ;  labouring 
man  at  his  work  characterized 
by  state  of  diffused,  308. 

Conservatism,  appeal  to  senti- 
ment of,  as  a  means  of  pro- 
moting mental  fusion,  258-260. 

Control  of  emotions,  extent  of 
voluntary,  118-120. 

Controls  of  conduct,  general,  I- 
18. 

Controversies,  futility  of,  made 
apparent,  60-61. 

.Conviction,  rational,  as  one  of 
the  classes  of  belief,  152-153. 


necessity  of,  in  preachers,  in 
treatment  of  doubt,  162-163. 

Co-operation,  problem  of,  as  re- 
lated to  differentiation  of 
mental  systems,  61-64. 

Co-ordination  and  co-operation 
of  Christian  forces,  approved 
by  the  business  man,  336-337. 

Crazes,  popular,  265-266;  exam- 
ples of,  266-268. 

Creative  synthesis,  theory  of  a, 
249. 

Credulity,  primitive,  as  one  of 
the  classes  of  belief,  152-153. 

Creedal  union,  problem  of,  re- 
sulting from  differentiation  of 
mental  system,  59-60. 

Crowding  of  people,  as  a  means 
of  promoting  process  of  men- 
tal fusion,  248-250. 

Crowd-suggestion,  development 
of  state  of,  242-244;  members 
of  assembly  first  to  yield  to, 
246-247. 

Crowds,  psychology  of,  236-238; 
fallacious  notions  concerning, 
249.  See  Assemblies. 

Crusades,  generally  healthy 
character  of,  viewed  as  mental 
epidemics,  268;  why  impossible 
under  conditions  of  modern 
society,  287. 

Culture,  enrichment  of  life 
through,  86-89;  value  of,  in 
religious  life,  90-91 ;  more 
even,  regular,  continuous  flow 
of  the  feelings  brought  about 
by,  91-92;  intimate  relation  of 
religion  and,  92-93. 

Davenport,  F.  M.,  quoted  con- 
cerning religious  revivals,  288. 

Deliberative  assembly,  special 
attitude  of  mind  of  individuals 
composing,  261 ;  desirability  of 
keeping  small,  261-263;  safe- 
guards needed  by  against 
tendency  to  fusion,  263;  tend- 
ency toward  unity  of  thought 
in,  of  a  different  breed  from 
unity  induced  by  emotional 


378 


INDEX 


fusion     of     individuals,     263- 

264;  steps  leading  to  present- 

day    change    in    character    of 

the,  264. 
Delivery,  consideration  of,  as  a 

means     of    arousing     feeling, 

116-125. 
Democratic  spirit,  growth  of,  as 

a  result  of  modern  conditions, 

365. 

Denunciation,  avoidance  of,  in 
treatment  of  doubt,  158-161. 

Descriptive  speech,  effectiveness 
of,  for  arousing  feeling,  125- 
128. 

Desire,  relation  of  feeling  to, 
79-81. 

Detached  subconsciousness,  the- 
ory of  a,  17-18. 

Devotion,  creating  impression  of, 
a  condition  of  suggestive 
power,  226. 

Dewey,  John,  "How  We 
Think,"  quoted,  34,  38,  47. 

Differentiation  of  mental  sys- 
tems 47  ff.  ;  influences  which 
cause,  47-52  ;  influences  of 
native  organic  differences,  49- 
50;  influences  of  intellectual 
environment,  50-51  ;  high  de- 
gree of  differentiation  result- 
ing from  the  various  influ- 
ences, 51-52;  effect  of  upon 
meaning,  52-56. 

Diseases  due  to  modern  environ- 
mental conditions,  345-346. 

Dishonesty,  form  of  doubt 
called,  159. 

Dispositions,  native,  place  of, 
among  controls  of  conduct, 


Dissociation  theory  of  the  sub- 

conscious, 16-17. 
Division  of  labour,  influence  of, 

upon  mental  systems,  48-49. 
Dogmatism,  danger  of  tendency 

to  habit  of,  in  ministers,  293- 

295- 
Doubt,  a  state  or  attitude  result- 

ing   from    the    arrest    of    the 

process  of  believing,  142-143; 


explanation  of,  demanded 
rather  than  of  belief,  145; 
when  justifiable,  146;  intimate 
connection  between  belief  and, 
148-152 ;  the  present  an  era  of, 
157;  the  preacher's  relation  to 
religious,  158-163. 

Drama,  influence  of,  in  develop- 
ing the  sentiments,  112;  use 
of,  to  secure  spontaneous  at- 
tention, 177. 

Dramatic  action,  arousing  of 
feeling  by,  120-123 ;  distinction 
between  arousing  feeling  by, 
and  by  expression  of  it  in 
voice  and  gesture,  123-125. 

Dunlap,  "A  System  of  Psychol- 
ogy." quoted,  28,  212-213; 
quoted  on  effects  to  be 
achieved  by  singing  in  assem- 
blies, 251-252. 

Economic  dependence  of  minis- 
ters, effects  of,  301-306. 

Economic  problems,  pressure  of 
modern,  for  consideration  in 
political  sphere,  363-364. 

Education,  results  from,  in  the 
enrichment  of  life  and  exten- 
sion of  religious  feelings,  86- 
89. 

Elsenhans,  quoted  concerning 
memory  images,  25-26. 

Emotion,  feeling  and,  68-69;  re- 
lation between  physiological 
disturbance  and  feeling-tone, 
70-71 ;  relation  of  feeling,  the 
conscious  side  of,  to  the  motor, 
or  physical  side,  71-75 ;  com- 
plexity of,  as  a  process,  77; 
effects  of  indulgence  in  exces- 
sive, 84;  three  ways  of  arous- 
ing, 115;  excitation  of,  by  ex- 
pression and  communication  as 
a  means  of  arousing  feeling, 
117-125;  skilful  use  of  lan- 
guage as  a  means  of  arousing, 
125-132;  deliberation  and 
choice  rendered  impossible  by, 
204 ;  suggestibility  of  those  un- 
der sway  of,  229-230;  kinds 


INDEX 


379 


of,  most  effective  in  promot- 
ing mental  fusion,  254  ff. ;  fear, 
254-255;  anger,  255-256;  love, 
256-257;  that  which  is  evoked 
by  appeal  to  sentiment  of  lib- 
erty, 257-258;  sentiment  of 
conservatism,  or  attachment  to 
that  which  is  old,  258-260; 
question  as  to  value  of  emo- 
tional fusion,  260-261;  com- 
munication of,  in  mental  epi- 
demics, 269 ;  necessity  of  keep- 
ing religious,  within  bounds  of 
self -control,  288-289. 

Emotional  life,  intelligence  and 
the  enrichment  of  the,  86-90; 
direction  and  organization  of, 
the  chief  function  of  preach- 
ing, 112. 

Emotions,  when  organized  into 
systems,  become  sentiments, 
94 ;  question  of  extent  of  vol- 
untary control  of,  118-120;  re- 
sponsiveness of,  to  rhythm, 
129-132. 

Employment,  effects  of  irregu- 
lar, on  labouring  man,  315- 
316. 

Environment,  effect  of,  on  in- 
stincts, 6;  function  of  con- 
sciousness to  enable  the  or- 
ganism to  adapt  itself  to,  10- 
ii ;  effect  of,  on  individual's 
consciousness,  14-15 ;  influ- 
ence of  the  intellectual,  on 
mental  system,  50-51;  organs 
of  body  which  effect  adjust- 
ments between  organism  and 
the  external,  72;  change  of,  to 
develop  new  sentiments  or 
ideals,  109;  relation  of  shift- 
ing of  attention  to  complexity 
and  many-sidedness  of,  178^- 
179;  responsiveness  of  the  liv- 
ing being  to  its,  186-192 ;  con- 
ditions of,  working  to  produce 
the  modern  mind,  338-349;  the 
natural  and  the  human  factors 
of>  338-339;  comparative  im- 
portance of  the  natural,  under 
primitive  conditions,  339-340; 


dominance  of  interests  grow- 
ing out  of  pressure  of  the  nat- 
ural, 340-341 ;  mental  effects 
produced  by  living  under  con- 
ditions of  natural,  341-342; 
mental  effects  of  conditions 
under  the  modern,  342-344; 
conditions  of  modern,  344- 
349;  effect  of  modern,  on 
thinking  and  feeling  of  men, 
349  ff. ;  modern  conditions 
which  stimulate  men  to  im- 
press themselves  upon  their, 
352-353;  modern  view  that  re- 
ligious life  is  a  matter  of 
proper  human,  370. 

Epidemics,  mental.  See  Mental 
epidemics. 

Ethics,  double  standard  of,  ac- 
cepted by  the  business  man, 
330-332;  emphasis  placed  by 
present-day  conditions  upon 
element  of,  in  Christianity, 

374- 
Excitation  of  feeling,  means  and 

methods   of,   115-134. 
Exposition,  problem  of,  resulting 

from  differentiation  of  mental 

systems,  58-59- 
Expression   and   communication, 

excitation  of  emotion  by,  117- 

125. 

Fashion,  influence  of,  on  women 
due  to  their  collective  sugges- 
tibility, 222-223. 

Fatigue,  the  cause  of  fluctuation 
in  attention,  182-183. 

Fear,  as  an  emotion  for  pro- 
moting mental  fusion  in 
crowds,  254-255. 

Feeling,  problem  of,  in  mental 
life,  65 ;  distinction  between 
feeling-tone  and,  65-68;  emo- 
tion and,  68-69;  distinction  be- 
tween pain  and  unpleasant- 
ness, 69-70;  relation  between 
physiological  disturbance  and 
feeling-tone,  70-71 ;  relation  of 
feeling,  or  conscious  side  of 
emotion,  to  the  motor,  or 


380 


INDEX 


physical  side,  71-75 ;  why  some 
experiences  cause  pleasant  and 
others  unpleasant  states  of 
consciousness,  75~79  '>  relation 
of,  to  desire,  79-81 ;  and  habit, 
81-83;  strength  of  stimulus  as 
related  to  the  feeling-tone,  83- 
86;  effect  of  growing  intelli- 
gence upon  character  of*  86- 
90;  effective  means  and 
methods  of  exciting,  115  ff. ; 
delivery  as  a  means  of  arous- 
ing, 116-125;  exciting  of,  by 
skilful  use  of  language,  125- 
132;  necessity  of  harmony  be- 
tween emotions  evoked,  for 
arousing  of,  133-134;  opera- 
tion of,  in  the  determination 
of  belief,  1497152,  154. 

Feeling-tones,  distinguished  from 
feelings,  65-^8;  relation  be- 
tween physiological  disturb- 
ance and,  70-71. 

Fiction,  appropriate  for  purpose 
of  developing  the  sentiments, 
112. 

Flattery,  impression  of,  to  be 
avoided  in  exerting  suggestive 
influence,  225. 

Fluctuation  of  the  attention, 
181-185. 

"Focalized  consciousness,  atten- 
tion as,  165-166. 

Forecasting,  power  of,  confined 
to  consciousness  of  human  or- 
ganisms, 193. 

Freedom  of  the  will,  question  of, 
196-200. 

Frugality,  formerly  held  a  vir- 
tue by  the  business  man,  329. 

Function,  instinct  defined  in 
terms  of,  3. 

Functional  meaning,  43-45. 

Fusion,  means  of  promoting 
process  of,  in  assemblies,  248- 
254. 

Garb,  psychological  effect  of  the 

preacher's,  297. 
God,  different  meanings  borne  by 

the  word,  54;  means  of  devel- 


oping love  for,  by  preachers, 
1 12 ;  preacher's  interpretation 
of  message  of,  293-294;  influ- 
ences leading  to  present  day 
confusion  as  to  relation  of,  to 
the  universe,  358-359;  sup- 
planting of,  in  the  modern 
mind,  by  human  relationships 
and  humanly  controlled  en- 
vironment, 360-366;  idea  of,  in 
minds  influenced  by  science 
and  by  humanly  controlled  en- 
vironment, 366-367 ;  concep- 
tion of,  held  by  ethical  ideal- 
ists, 367-368;  humanizing  of, 
by  one  class  of  modern 
thinkers,  368;  modern  view  of 
man's  relation  to,  as  one  of 
co-operation  or  of  opposition, 
37<>-37i. 

Gravity,  preacher's  tendency  to 
habitual  and  merely  superficial, 
295-208. 

Great  Fear,  the,  an  illustration 
of  mental  epidemic,  267;  pre- 
disposing causes  of,  274-275. 

Habit,  instinct  improperly  view- 
ed, as,  4-5 ;  influence  of,  on 
instincts,  6;  discussion  of, 
among  the  controls  of  con- 
duct, 11-16;  relation  of  feel- 
ing and,  81-83;  development 
of  sentiments  and  ideals  a 
process  of  habit  formation, 

III-II2. 

Head  and  heart,  struggle  be- 
tween, a  significant  phe- 
nomenon, 156. 

Historians,  selection  in  recall  of 
images  by,  26-27. 

Honesty,  the  first  virtue  among 
business  men,  329. 

Humanity,  love  of,  to  be  devel- 
oped by  preachers  by  use  of 
sentiments  and  ideals,  112-113. 

Huntington,  Ellsworth,  "  Civil- 
ization and  Climate,"  cited, 
278  n. 

Hylan,  "  The  Fluctuation  of  the 
Attention,"  cited,  183. 


INDEX 


Hypnosis,  state  of  abnoral  sug- 
gestibility called,  210;  differ- 
entiated from  other  forms  of 
suggestion,  211-212;  similarity 
of  crowd-suggestion  to,  243. 

Hvsteria,  abnormal  nervous  con- 
dition called,  210. 

Ideals,  sentiments  and,  dis- 
cussed, 94  ff. ;  definition  and 
analysis  of,  105-107;  closeness 
of  relation  between  sentiments 
and,  108-109;  importance  of 
sentiments  and,  as  character- 
makers,  109-110;  process  of 
development  of  sentiments 
and,  110-114. 

Ignorance,  penalty  of,  seen  in 
limiting  of  interest  of  life.  87- 
88. 

Illustration,  use  of,  to  secure 
spontaneous  attention,  177* 

Imagery,  forms  of,  20-22. 

Images,  mental.  See  Mental 
images. 

Imagination,  use  of,  to  solve 
problems  of  understanding,  56. 

Immortality,  modern  decline  in 
interest  and  belief  in  per- 
sonal, 353. 

Independence,  the  preacher's 
preservation  of  his,  304-306. 

Indignation,  transformation  of 
emotion  of  anger  iato,  255- 
256. 

Indirection,  method  of,  in  nor- 
mal suggestion,  224-225. 

Industry,  as  a  virtue  emphasized 
by  the  business  man,  329. 

Inspirational  gathering,  the,  239 
ff. 

Instincts,  definition  and  explan- 
ation of,  3-7. 

Instruction,  stage  of  mental 
unity  of  assembly  best  suited 
to,  245-246. 

Intellect,  struggle  between  the, 
and  the  inclinations,  156;  in- 
secure support  found  for  re- 
ligious beliefs  in  intellectual 
forms,  157. 


Intellectual  characteristics  of 
business  type  of  mind,  324- 
328. 

Intellectual  environment,  influ- 
ence of,  on  mental  system,  50- 
5i- 

Intellectualism  and  emotionalism 
compared  as  to  value  in  re- 
ligion, 288-289. 

Intelligence,  effect  of,  upon  en- 
richment of  the  emotional  life. 
86-90. 

Intensity  of  attention,  181-185. 

Interest,  the  moving  of  attention 
along  the  line  of,  167 ;  state  of, 
in  spontaneous  attention,  175- 
176. 

Interruption,  the  characteristic 
of  compulsory  attention,  170. 

Intolerance,  necessity  of  guard- 
ing against,  by  ministers,  293- 
294- 

Isolation  of  labouring  men,  so- 
cial effect  of,  310-311. 

James,  William,  quoted  concern- 
ing definition  of  instinct,  3 ;  on 
consciousness  involved  in  in- 
stinct, 4;  on  belief,  135. 

James-Lange  theory  of  the  emo- 
tions, 70. 

Jesus,  conditions  favouring  re- 
forms at  the  time  of,  275-276; 
present-day  emphasis  on  hu- 
manity of,  368;  morality  in 
personal  teachings  of,  374. 

Labouring  men,  defined,  306; 
importance  and  growth  of 
class,  306-307;  acuteness  of 
problems  of,  307 ;  conditions  of 
life  as  affecting  their  intellec- 
tual development,  307-310;  in- 
evitable trend  of,  toward  ma- 
terialism of  the  crudest  type, 
310;  relation  of  leisure  of,  to 
their  intellectual  life,  311-313; 
characteristics  of  emotional 
side  of  personality  of,  313- 
314;  ethical  peculiarities  of, 
314-318;  reaction  of  condi- 


382 


INDEX 


tions  of,  upon  their  religious 
life,  3I&-3I9; 

Land  booms  in  South,  example 
of  popular  mania,  266. 

Language,  evolution  of,  with  ad>- 
vance  of  culture,  32;  skilful 
use  of,  as  a  means  of  arousing 
emotion,  125-132. 

Layman's  Missionary  Movement, 
tendency  of  business  type  of 
mind  shown  in,  326-327. 

Leisure,  effect  of,  upon  develop- 
ment of  mental  life,  290;  re- 
sults of  labouring  man's  lack 
of,  307-308,  311-313- 

Levity,  an  unbecoming  quality 
in  ministers,  296,  298. 

Liberty,  use  of  emotion  evoked 
by  sentiment  of,  for  promoting 
mental  fusion,  257L-258. 

Life,  the  forth-reaching,  on- 
ward-moving character  of, 
192-194. 

Literary  style,  relation  between 
mental  images  and,  32-33. 

Literature,  different  feelings  for 
nature  shown  in  early  and 
later,  350-351. 

Locomotive  engine,  divergence 
in  significance  of,  to  different 
mental  systems,  54-55. 

Loneliness,  intolerance  of,  by 
modern  man,  349-350. 

Love,  as  a  means  of  promoting 
mental  fusion  in  an  assembly, 
256-257. 


MacCunn,  John,  quoted  as  to 
importance  of  ideals,  109. 

McDougall,  William,  definition 
of  an  instinct  by,  quoted,  3-4; 
quoted  on  emotions,  68;  defi- 
nition of  sentiment  by,  94; 
quoted  on  the  sentiments,  203. 

Machinery,  effect  of  familiarity 
with,  upon  modern  conception 
of  universe,  356-357. 

Maier,    cited    on    the    emotions, 

69. 
Man,  instinctive  organization  of, 


compared  with  that  of  ani- 
mals, 6-7. 

Materialism,  how  tendency  of 
labouring  man  is  toward,  310; 
effect  of  the  labouring  man's, 
on  his  religious  side,  319-320. 

Meaning,  of  sensation  or  mental 
image,  42 ;  primary  or  func- 
tional, 43-45;  secondary  or 
theoretical,  and  its  relation  to 
the  functional,  45-47;  effect 
upon,  of  differentiation  of 
mental  systems,  52-56. 

Mental  epidemics,  defined,  265; 
two  broad  classes  of,  dis- 
tinguished, 265-266 ;  popular 
manias  or  crazes,  266-268; 
two  fundamental  processes  re- 
sulting in,  268-269;  laws  of, 
270  ff. ;  movement  in  waves, 
270-271 ;  waves  of  collective 
emotion  followed  by  reaction 
in  opposite  direction,  271 ;  two 
powerful  popular  emotions  can 
not  occur  at  same  time,  271- 
272;  spread  of,  along  lines  of 
mental  homogeneity,  common 
interest,  and  frequent  contact, 
272;  conditions  favourable  to 
occurrence  of,  272-278;  bear- 
ing of  progress  of  society  upon 
phenomena  of,  278  ff. ;  rela- 
tion of  tendencies  of  modern 
life  to,  283-287;  greater  value 
of,  when  brought  under  direc- 
tion of  intelligence,  288. 

Mental  equipment  and  organ- 
ization, suggestibility  varies 
inversely  as  the,  216-218. 

Mental  image,  question  of  what 
is  a,  19-20;  defined  as  a  con- 
scious copy  of  an  experience, 
20;  forms  of  imagery,  20-22; 
recall  of  the  image,  22-29; 
viewed  as  our  intellectual 
stock-in-trade,  29-33. 

Mental  systems,  34  ff. ;  processes 
of  organization,  35-39;  con- 
struction of  a  philosophy,  39- 
40;  meaning  of  sensation  or 
mental  image,  42-43;  primary 


INDEX 


383 


or  functional  meaning,  43- 
45;  secondary  or  theoretical 
meaning  and  its  relation  to  the 
functional,  45~47;  differentia- 
tion of  mental  systems,  47- 
52;  effect  upon  meaning,  of 
the  differentiation  of,  52-56; 
practical  problems  involved, 

56-64- 

Methods  of  suggestion,  224-235. 

Miller,  "Psychology  of  Think- 
ing," cited,  36. 

Mind,  the  modern.  See  Modern 
mind. 

Ministers,  study  of,  as  a  psycho- 
logical type,  291  ff. ;  breadth 
of  occupation,  291-293;  dan- 
ger of  development  of  a  ver- 
satile but  shallow  mental  type, 
292-293;  the  narrowing  tend- 
encies of  occupation,  293  ff.; 
tendency  to  habit  of  dogma- 
tism, 293-295;  tendency  to 
merely  habitual  and  superficial 
gravity  of  tone  and  manner, 
295-298;  chief  concern  of,  with 
application  of  will  of  God  to 
lives  of  men,  298-301 ;  influ- 
ence of  economic  dependence 
of,  301-306.  See  Preachers. 

Mobs,  anger  the  emotion  that 
usually  sways,  255-256. 

Mob-state,  question  as  to 
whether  normal  or  abnormal, 
210-211;  origins  of,  237;  steps 
leading  to  stage  of  psychic 
fusion  which  is  the,  242;  acts 
of  mass  of  individuals  in  a, 
243-244. 

Modern  mind,  the,  338  ff. ;  con- 
ditions of  environment  which 
produce  the,  as  contrasted 
with  conditions  under  primi- 
tive environment,  338-349;  ef- 
fect of  modern  environmental 
conditions  on  dispositions  and 
mental  attiudes,  349  ff. ;  in- 
tolerance of  loneliness,  340- 
350;  aesthetic  delight  in  na- 
ture, 350-351;  less  perfect 
rhythmical  adjustment  to  na- 


ture, 351 ;  strenuous,  over- 
stimulated  character,  352;  pas- 
sion for  achievement,  352-353; 
effects  wrought  by  great  de- 
velopment of  science,  353-360; 
removal  of  God  into  the  back- 
ground of  thought,  360-366; 
modification  of  idea  of  God, 

Moll,  Albert,  quoted  on  hyp- 
notism, 2II-2I2. 

Morality,  of  labouring  man,  314- 
318 ;  in  Christ's  personal  teach- 
ings, 374. 

Mother,  development  of  a 
child's  sentiment  for  its,  no- 
iii. 

Motility,  sensitivity  plus,  as  the 
mode  of  responsiveness  char- 
acterizing animal  life,  187-188. 

Music,  reasons  for  importance 
of,  to  the  emotional  life,  130; 
for  promoting  process  of  fu- 
sion in  assemblies,  251-253. 

Mysticism,  of  religions  of  primi- 
tive peoples,  341-342;  lacking 
in  the  business  type  of  mind, 
332. 

Natural  environment,  compara- 
tive ^  importance  of,  under 
primitve  conditions,  339-340 ; 
dominance  of  interests  grow- 
ing out  of  pressure  of  the, 
340-341 ;  mental  effects  pro- 
duced by  living  under  condi- 
tions of,  341-342. 

Natural  law,  tendencies  favour- 
ing present-day  reign  of,  353- 
358 ;  philosophical  problem 
presented  by,  and  suggested 
solution,  359^-360. 

Nature,  aesthetic  delight  in,  char- 
acteristic of  modern  mind,  350- 
351;  rhythmical  adjustment  to, 
less  perfect  in  modern  than  in 
primitive  conditions,  351. 

Neural  theory  of  the  subcon- 
scious, 16. 

Normal  and  abnormal  sugges- 
tion, 2IO-2II. 


INDEX 


Occupation,  significance  of,  in 
development  of  mental  life, 
47-49 ;  determination  of  hab- 
itual mental  processes  by,  290. 

Occupational  types,  290  ff. ;  the 
ministerial,  291-306;  the  wage- 
earning,  306-321 ;  the  business 
type,  321-337- 

Old,  passions  aroused  by  appeal 
to  sentiment  for  the,  258-260. 

Openness,  lack  of,  characteristic 
of  art  of  suggestion,  233-234. 

Oratory,  development  of,  with 
progress  of  society,  15-16; 
promotion  of  mental  fusion  by 
imaginative,  passionate,  2$3- 

254- 

Organs  of  body,  grouped  accord- 
ing to  function,  72. 


Pain,  distinction  between  un- 
pleasantness and,  69-70. 

Panics,  effect  of  emotion  of  fear 
shown  in,  254;  financial,  as  ex- 
amples of  mental  epidemics, 
267;  peculiarity  of  financial, 
among  mental  epidemics  of 
modern  times,  286-287. 

Passion,  suggestibility  of  those 
under  sway  of,  229-230. 

Paul,  the  apostle,  on  keeping  re- 
ligious emotions  within  bounds 
of  self-control,  288-289. 

Peculiarity,  arousing  of  feeling 
by  a,  116-117. 

Personality,  power  of,  as  a  sug- 
gestive force,  227-228. 

Persuasion,  greater  importance 
of  function  of,  in  human  life, 
with  each  upward  advance,  15 ; 
distinction  between  suggestion 
and,  234-235. 

Philosophical  thinking,  trend  of 
present-day,  371. 

Philosophy,  construction  of  a, 
by  men,  39;  definition  of  a, 
39- 

Physiological  disturbance,  rela- 
tion between  feeling-tone  and, 
70-71. 


Pictorial  language,  effectiveness 
of,  for  arousing  feeling,  125- 
128. 

Pierce,  Professor,  inventor  and 
critic  of  phrase  "detached 
subconsciousness,"  17. 

Pillsbury,  "  Psychology  of  Rea- 
soning," cited,  42;  on  doubt 
and  belief,  145. 

Pleasant  and  unpleasant  states 
of  consciousness,  cause  of,  by 
different  experiences,  75-79. 

Poetry,  appropriateness  of,  for 
developing  the  sentiments,  112; 
importance  of,  to  the  emo- 
tional life,  130. 

Politics,  demoralization  in,  re- 
sulting from  indulgence  in  ex- 
cessive emotions,  84-85. 

Popular  manias,  265-266;  illus- 
trations of,  266-268.  See 
Mental  epidemics. 

Population,  relation  of  density 
of,  to  mental  epidemics,  282- 
283. 

Preachers,  how  sentiments  and 
ideals  are  supremely  signifi- 
cant to,  109-110;  relation  of, 
to  religious  doubt,  158-163; 
means  of  compelling  attention 
by,  171-172;  should  make  as 
small  demand  as  possible  on 
voluntary  attention,  174-175 ; 
means  of  securing  spontaneous 
attention,  177;  significance  to, 
of  mental  characteristic  of 
shifting  attention,  179-181 ; 
heed  to  be  paid  by,  to  fluc- 
tuations of  the  attention,  183- 
185 ;  should  be  men  of  strong 
will,  205-206;  should  aim  at 
eliciting  a  voluntary  response 
from  their  hearers,  206;  dis- 
tinction to  be  observed  by,  be- 
tween suggestion  and  persua- 
sion, 235;  how  method  of  sug- 
gestion is  rendered  easy  to, 
235 ;  special  wisdom  and  un- 
derstanding of  psychological 
laws  necessary  to,  in  making 
appeals  to  promiscuous  assem- 


INDEX 


385 


blies,  247;  use  of  emotion  of 
fear  by,  255;  use  of  anger  by, 
255-256;  use  of  love,  257;  use 
of  appeal  to  sentiment  of  lib- 
erty, 258;  appeal  to  sentiment 
for  the  old  to  be  avoided  by, 
259-260 ;  problems  presented 
to,  by  labouring  class,  307 ;  im- 
portance to,  of  problem  pre- 
sented by  labouring  class  and 
modern  economic  conditions, 
320-321 ;  religious  peculiarities 
of  the  business  man  to  be  spe- 
cially noted  by,  336-337;  note 
to  be  taken  by,  of  modern  de- 
cline in  belief  in  personal  im- 
mortality, 353;  problem  pre- 
sented to,  by  modern  popular 
conception  of  natural  law, 
360;  task  of,  to  point  men  to 
service  as  the  true  road  to  self- 
realization,  366. 

Preaching,  as  one  method  of 
modifying  strength  of  in- 
stincts, 6 ;  progress  of,  with 
advance  of  society,  16 ;  rela- 
tion between  mental  images 
and,  32-33 ;  problem  of  making 
one's  self  understood,  56-58; 
problem  of  exposition  in,  58- 
59;  loss  of  strength  of  stimu- 
lus resulting  from  repetition, 
83 ;  danger  of  high  emotional 
effects  in,  84-86;  value  of  cul- 
ture in,  90-91 ;  importance  of, 
as  a  means  of  developing  sen- 
timents and  ideals,  112-114; 
effective  means  and  methods 
of  exiciting  feelings  in,  115- 

134- 

Prejudices,  origin  and  nature 
of,  40-44;  responsibility  of  na- 
tional, for  war,  41 ;  sharing  of, 
as  a  means  of  securing  confi- 
dence, 228-229. 

Presentations,  six  ways  in  which 
the  mind  may  react  to  new, 
136-144;  consequences  to  be 
deduced  from,  144-148. 

Prestige,  suggestive  force  of, 
226-227. 


Primary  and  secondary  mean- 
ing, 43-47. 

Processes  of  mental  organ- 
ization, 35-41. 

Public  opinion,  influence  of,  on 

deliberative  assemblies,  264. 

Purposive  assembly,  the,  238  ff. 


Racial  habit,  view  of  instinct  as, 
4-5;  effect  of,  upon  sugges- 
tibility of  a  population,  277- 
278. 

Rationality,  sensitivity  plus  mo- 
tivity  plus,  the  mode  of  re- 
sponsiveness characterizing 
human  life,  187-188 ;  what  con- 
stitutes rationality,  191. 

Reading,  importance  of,  for  de- 
veloping the  sentiments,  1 12. 

Reality  of  anything,  sense  of, 
derived  by  adjusting  oneself  to 
it,  309-310. 

Recall  of  mental  image,  22  ff. ; 
conditions  of  recall,  23-25;  in- 
exactness of  recalled  image, 
25-29. 

Reflective  and  unreflective  or- 
ganization in  mental  system, 
36-41. 

Reflexes,  definition  and  elucida- 
tion of,  1-3;  distinction  be- 
tween instincts  and,  3. 

Regularity  in  repetition,  avoid- 
ance of,  231-232. 

Religion,  demoralizing  effects  in, 
of  indulgence  of  excessive 
emotions,  84-86;  relation  be- 
tween growing  intelligence 
and,  86-89;  close  relation  be- 
tween culture  and,  90-93;  the 
outlook  for,  372-374. 

Religious  experience,  value  to, 
of  process  of  psychic  fusion, 
260-261. 

Religious  movements,  conditions 
favourable  to,  as  a  form  of 
mental  epidemic,  276. 

Religious  peculiarities  of  the 
business  man,  332-337. 

Repetition,   suggestion   rendered 


386 


INDEX 


effective  by,  230-231;  cautions 
regarding  use  of,  231-232. 

Repetition  of  experience,  effect 
of,  upon  feeling,  81-83. 

Reputation,  importance  of,  as  a 
suggestive  force,  226-227. 

Resistance  of  an  organism  to  in- 
terference with  its  autonomy, 
214. 

Response,  character  of,  to  be 
elicited  by  the  preacher  from 
those  to  whom  he  appeals, 
206-207 ;  immediateness  of,  es- 
sential to  effectiveness  of  sug- 
gestion, 232-233. 

Responsiveness  of  the  living 
being  to  its  surroundings,  186 ; 
modes  of,  which  characterize 
the  vegetable,  the  animal,  and 
the  human  grades  of  life,  187- 
188. 

Revivals,  discussion  of  value  of, 
260-261 ;  mental  epidemics  il- 
lustrated by,  267,  268;  certain 
type  of,  impossible  under  con- 
ditions of  modern  society,  287 ; 
mistake  of  bringing  on,  by  ar- 
tificial methods,  288;  no 
ground  for  fear  that  genuine, 
are  things  of  the  past,  289; 
loss  in  extravagance  made  up 
by  gain  in  moral  significance 
and  social  value,  289. 

Rhythm,   in   intensity   of   atten- 
tion, 181-185 ;  of  singing  in  as- 
semblies, 251-252. 
Rhythm     of     speech,     arousing 

feeling  by,  128-132. 
Rhythmical    adjustment    to    na- 
ture,  less   perfect   in  modern 
than    in   primitive    conditions, 

Ribot,  T.  A.,  "The  Psychology 
of  the  Emotions,"  quoted,  73- 

74- 

Ritualistic  and  non-ritualistic 
methods  contrasted  as  means 
of  inducing  mental  unity,  251. 

Ross,  E.  A.,  "Social  Psychol- 
ogy," quoted,  250. 

Russia,  reasons  for  points  of  dif- 


ference between  revolution  in, 
and  French  Revolution,  278. 

Science,  effect  of  development 
of,  on  modern  environmental 
conditions,  349;  effects  upon 
mental  attitude  of  men,  35-3- 
360. 

Scott,  W.  D.,  "Psychology  of 
Public  Speaking,"  cited,  21, 
131,  254;  discussion  of  sen- 
tence-structure from  psycho- 
logical point  of  view,  132  n. 

Sectarianism,  reasons  for  busi- 
ness man's  lack  of,  334-336. 

Selection,  a  characteristic  of  the 
action  of  intelligence,  26-27. 

Sensation,  legitimate  and  ille- 
gitimate in,  172-173. 

Sensationalism,  why  objection- 
able, 172-173. 

Sensitivity,  the  mode  of  respon- 
siveness which  characterizes 
vegetable  life,  187-188;  plus 
motility,  characterizing  animal 
life,  188;  plus  motility  plus  ra- 
tionality, characterizing  human 
life,  188. 

Sentence-structure,  importance 
of,  in  public  speaking,  132. 

Sentiments,  discussion  of  ideals 
and,  04  ff. ;  definition  of,  94- 
95;  classification  of,  as  con- 
crete or  particular  and  abstract 
or  general,  95-97 ;  classified  by 
scale  of  moral  values,  97-102; 
close  relation  between  ideals 
and,  108-109;  ideals  deter- 
mined in  large  measure  by, 
109 ;  importance  of  ideals  and, 
109-110;  supreme  importance 
of,  for  character-making,  100- 
110;  process  of  development 
of,  110-114. 

Shand,  Alexander  R,  definition 
of  sentiments  by,  94. 

Sidis,  Boris,  "  Psychology  of 
Suggestion,"  quoted,  249-250; 
story  of  tulip  craze  in  Hol- 
land related  by,  266-267. 

Simmel,     "Die     Probleme     der 


INDEX 


387 


Geschichtsphilosophie,"  quot- 
ed, 155;  cited  concerning  ef- 
fect of  modern  environmental 
conditions  on  man's  attitude 
toward  nature,  351. 

Singing,  effectiveness  of,  in  pro- 
moting process  of  fusion  in 
assemblies,  251-253. 

Social  changes,  predisposing  con- 
ditions to  mental  epidemics 
found  in,  275-276. 

Social  mind,  theory  of  a,  249. 

Social  organization,  lack  of, 
under  conditions  of  primitive 
life,  340-341 ;  bewildering 
growth  of,  in  modern  life,  348- 

349- 

Social  problems,  pressure  of 
modern,  362-363. 

Society,  stages  of,  and  their 
bearing  upon  phenomena  of 
mental  epidemics,  278-287. 

Sombart,  r'  Der  Bourgeois," 
cited,  323,  328,  330. 

Specialization,  influence  of  pres- 
ent-day, on  mental  systems, 

48-49. . 

Speculation,  crazes  for,  as  ex- 
amples of  mental  epidemics, 
267. 

Spencer,  Herbert,  struggle  be- 
tween head  and  heart  illus- 
trated by,  156. 

Spontaneous  attention,  discus- 
sion of,  175-177. 

Stimuli,  like  response  to,  by  like- 
minded  persons,  resulting  in 
mental  epidemics,  268-269. 

Stimulus,  loss  of  strength 
of,  from  repetition,  82-83; 
strength  of,  as  related  to  the 
feeling-tone,  83-86. 

Story-telling,  influences  affecting 
selection  of  details  in,  26,  27- 
28;  as  a  means  of  securing 
spontaneous  attention,  177. 

Street  preaching,  sources  of  ef- 
fectiveness of,  237-238;  dis- 
advantage of,  in  lack  of  uni- 
fied psychological  group  of 
hearers,  238. 


Structure,  instinct  defined  in 
terms  of,  3. 

Style  in  speaking,  as  a  means  of 
arousing  emotion,  125-132. 

Subconscious,  problem  and  the- 
ories of  the,  16-18. 

Suggestibility,  fundamental  prin- 
ciples underlying  phenomena 
of,  212-215;  varies  inversely 
as  the  insistence  of  the  per- 
sonality upon  maintaining  its 
autonomy,  215;  varies  in- 
versely as  the  mental  equip- 
ment and  organization,  216- 
218;  of  children,  218-220;  of 
women,  220-223;  reasons  for, 
in  other  classes  of  persons, 
223-224;  of  races  in  early 
stages  of  development,  278. 

Suggestion,  discussion  of,  209  ff. ; 
indefiniteness  of  meaning  as 
used  in  popular  speech,  209- 
210;  the  essential  characteris- 
tic of  process  of,  210;  distinc- 
tion between  normal  and  ab- 
normal, 210-211;  hysteria  and 
hypnosis,  210-211;  hypnotic 
suggestion  differentiated  from 
other  forms  of,  211-212;  psy- 
chological principles  which  un- 
derlie phenomenon,  212-215; 
two  fundamental  laws  of  nor- 
mal suggestibility,  215-218; 
nobody  beyond  the  reach  of, 
218;  extraordinary  sugges- 
tibility of  children,  2i8r-22o; 
women  unsually  open  to  in- 
fluence of,  220-223;  causes  of 
suggestibility  in  other  classes 
of  persons,  223-224;  effective 
methods  of,  224  ff. ;  must  be 
indirect,  224-225 ;  importance 
of  securing  confidence  of  sub- 
ject, 225-226;  importance  of 
prestige  in,  226-227;  power  of 
personality  in,  227-228;  shar- 
ing of  prejudices  as  a  means 
of,  228-229;  susceptibility  of 
those  under  sway  of  strong 
emotion,  220-230;  use  of  repe- 
tition to  render  effective,  230- 


388 


INDEX 


232;  effectiveness  of,  propor- 
tional to  immediateness  of  re- 
sponse, 232-233;  art  of,  char- 
acterized by  lack  of  openness 
and  straightforwardness,  233- 
234;  sharp  differentiation  be- 
tween persuasion  and,  234- 
235;  warning  to  preachers  re- 
garding, 235;  collective,  in 
mobs,  242-244. 

Superhuman  influences,  domi- 
nance of,  over  people  living  in 
conditions  of  natural  environ- 
ment, 341-342. 

Teachers,  supreme  significance 
of  sentiments  and  ideals  to, 
109-110. 

Technical  terms,  divergence  of 
mental  systems  in  their  theo- 
retical meanings  to  an  extent 
overcome  by,  55-56. 

Terrors,  popular,  as  examples  of 
mental  epidemics,  267. 

Theological  thinking,  influence 
of  modern  philosophical  think- 
ing felt  by,  371. 

Theology,  attitude  of  business 
type  of  mind  toward,  332-334- 

Theoretical  meaning  and  its  re- 
lation to  the  functional,  45~47- 

Thinking,  denned,  34;  the  psy- 
chology of,  35  ff. ;  the  func- 
tion of,  to  guide  the  organism 
in  its  adjustment  to  the  en- 
vironment, 212. 

Titchener,  E.  B.,  "Text-book  of 
Psychology,"  quoted,  88; 
quoted  on  form  of  conscious- 
ness, 166;  cited  on  scope  of 
attention,  177. 

Traube-Hering  wave,  the,  181. 

Tulip  craze  in  Holland,  example 
of  popular  mania,  266-267. 

Uncultured  population,  condition 
favourable  to  mental  epidemic 
created  by,  272-273. 

Understanding,  problem  of,  re- 
sulting from  differentiation  of 


mental  systems,  56-58;  double 
character  of  problem,  58. 

Unemployment,   evils   of,   315. 

Unitarian  revolt,  reasons  for 
the,  369. 

Unity,  psychical,  in  an  accidental 
concourse,  236-238;  lack  of,  in 
street  preacher's  audiences, 
238;  of  the  inspirational  gath- 
ering, 239-240;  three  stages  of 
mental,  in  inspirational  gath- 
erings, 240-244. 

Universe,  effect  of  scientific  in- 
quiry on  modern  conception 
of.  355~357;  confusion  in  the 
modern  mind  as  to  relation  of 
God  to  the,  358-359. 

Unpleasantness,  distinction  be- 
tween pain  and,  69-70;  cause 
of,  by  some  experiences,  and 
of  pleasantness  by  others,  75- 
79- 


Vegetable  life,  mode  of  respon- 
siveness characterizing,  187- 
188;  psychical  life  wanting  in, 
189. 

Versatility  and  shallowness, 
danger  of  development  of 
combination,  in  ministers,  292- 
293- 

Virtues  at  the  basis  of  success- 
ful business,  329-330. 

Vital  assurance,  one  of  the  three 
classes  of  belief,  152,  153-154. 

Vital  processes,  correlation  of, 
in  the  organism,  76;  connec- 
tion of,  with  pleasant  and  un- 
pleasant states  of  conscious- 
ness, 77-79. 

Vividness  of  recalled  experience, 
law  of,  24. 

Volition,  close  relation  of  atten- 
tion to,  169-170. 

Voluntary  action,  meaning  of, 
186;  fundamental  truths  neces- 
sary to  conception  of,  186  ff. ; 
viewed  as  that  which  is  di- 
rected toward  a  consciously 
conceived  or  imaged  end, 


INDEX 


389 


I94-I9S ;  distinction  between 
degrees  of,  195;  securing  of, 
by  preaching,  206-208;  stimu- 
lation to,  the  only  antidote  for 
an  enfeebled  will,  233. 
Voluntary  attention,  characteris- 
tics of,  173-175. 


Wage-earners.  See  Labouring 
men. 

War,  responsibility  of  national 
prejudices  for,  41 ;  problems  of 
economic  and  political  ad- 
justment raised  by  the  great, 
363-364. 

Waves,  movement  of  mental  epi- 
demics in,  270-271 ;  following 
of,  by  reaction  in  opposite  di- 
rection, 271;  impossibility  of 


two  occurring  at  same  time, 
271-272. 

Wells,  H.  G.,  "  God,  the  Invisible 
King,"  by,  368. 

Will,  fundamental  truths  neces- 
sary to  a  satisfactory  idea  of 
function  of  the,  186  ff. ;  ques- 
tion of  freedom  of  the,  196- 
200;  strength  of,  a  necessary 
quality  in  preachers,  205-206. 

Women,  unusual  suggestibility 
of,  220-223;  rapid  effect  of 
crowd-suggestion  upon,  246- 
247. 

Work,  best  times  for,  182. 

Wundt,  W.  M.,  quoted  concern- 
ing memory  images,  25 ;  fail- 
ure of,  to  distinguish  between 
feeling  and  feeling-tone,  66- 
67. 


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tials of  Effective  Gesture."  The  combination  produces  a 
manual  that  is  complete  and  adequate  for  the  teacher  as 
well  as  the  student  of  public  speaking. 

Among  the  topics  presented  are:  Overcoming  the  Dread 
of  Speaking  in  Public;  The  Functions  of  the  Parts  of  a 
Speech;  Arranging  the  Material;  The  Preparation  for  a 
Speech;  The  Personality  of  the  Speaker;  The  Speaker's 
Attitude  Towards  His  Audience;  The  Nature  and  Tech- 
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with  Their  General  Meaning;  The  Scope  of  Gesture  An- 
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Public  Speaking -Principles  and  Practice 

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Text-Book  Edition,  8vo,  $1.60;  Cloth,  8vo,  New  Edition,  $2.00 
EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  PREFACE 

This  book  is  designed  to  set  forth  the  main  principles  of  effective 
platform  delivery,  and  to  provide  a  large  body  of  material  for  stu- 
dent practice.  The  work  laid  out  may  be  used  to  form  a  separate 
course  of  study,  or  a  course  of  training  running  parallel  with  a  course 
in  debating  or  other  original  speaking.  It  has  been  prepared  with 
a  view  also  to  that  large  number  who  want  to  speak,  or  have  to 
speak,  but  cannot  have  the  advantage  of  a  teacher.  Much  is  there- 
fore said  in  the  way  of  caution,  and  untechnical  language  is  used 
throughout. 

The  discussion  of  principles  in  Part  One  is  intended  as  a  help  towards 
the  student's  understanding  of  his  task,  and  also  as  a  common  basis 
of  criticism  in  the  relation  between  teacher  and  pupil.  The  pre- 
liminary fundamental  work  of  Part  Two,  Technical  Training,  deals 
first  with  the  right  formation  of  tone,  the  development  of  voice  as 
such,  the  securing  of  a  fixed  right  vocal  habit.  Following  comes  the 
adapting  of  this  improved  voice  to  the  varieties  of  use,  or  expres- 
sional  effect,  demanded  of  the  public  speaker.  After  this  critical 
detailed  drill,  the  student  is  to  take  the  platform,  and  apply  his 
acquired  technique  to  continued  discourse,  receiving  criticism  after 
each  entire  piece  of  work. 

The  question  as  to  what  should  be  the  plan  and  the  content  of 
Part  Three,  Platform  Practice,  has  been  determined  simply  by 
asking  what  are  the  distinctly  varied  conditions  under  which  men 
most  frequently  speak.  It  is  regarded  as  profitable  for  the  student 
to  practice,  at  least  to  some  extent,  in  all  the  several  kinds  of  speech 
here  chosen.  In  thus  cultivating  versatility,  he  will  greatly  enlarge 
his  power  of  expression,  and  will  at  length  discover  wherein  lies  his 
own  special  capability. 

The  principal  aim  in  choosing  the  selections  has  been  to  have  them 
sufficiently  alive  to  be  attractive  to  younger  speakers,  and  not  so 
heavy  as  to  be  unsuited  to  their  powers.  Some  of  them  have  proved 
effective  by  use;  many  others  are  new.  In  all  cases  they  are  of 
good  quality. 


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